


Unexpected Valentine

by slxightofhand



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Exposition, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Trans Character, a majority of dialogue and events are based off of in-game dialogue and events, calm down you pansexual little shits, further updates will be determined by feedback and interest, gay shit will come eventually, if not directly then very close, no definite update schedule, spoilers for Unlikely Valentine and subsequent quests inbound, the gay seed has been planted, there will be a lot of exposition, trans!Sole Survivor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slxightofhand/pseuds/slxightofhand
Summary: It all started by chance. And, Parker thinks, it will probably end that way, too. But, hey— he was never that lucky, as evidenced by both past events and recent ones. Very recent ones. At least he was lucky enough for this thing that's not yet developed enough to be given a name; it's taken the edge off of his hurt, despite everything. Because, regardless of circumstance, Nick Valentine has been a blessed constant.





	1. circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> detailed notes at the end-- it would be great if you could read them!! in case you don't feel like that, though, tl;dr: spoilers for "Unlikely Valentine" and subsequent quests. dialogue in first chapter taken near-directly from the game and modified. feelings of the sole survivor and his history included. more original content to come later.

Parker's conceptual introduction to the mere idea of Nick Valentine comes in the form of an accident. He had just stopped off in a place called the Valentine Detective Agency to not only try and dry off a bit, fretting over his Pip-Boy's state ("is this thing waterproof, or not?"), but also see about getting some answers regarding the murder of his wife and kidnapping of his son.

  


As he fretted over life and limb alike, his back to the space in question, a woman's voice rang out in the room behind him.

  


"Another stray, coming in from the rain," she sighed, and she turned to face him just as he did the same. "'Fraid you're too late. Office is closed." They searched each other's eyes for a moment before Parker spoke up, voice soft and understanding.

  


"I know you must be busy, but I won't take much of your time, miss. It's important."

  


"You're right," she remarked, face seeming to fall even further. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, but it's just… The Detective… He's gone missing."

  


Parker bit back a grimace. Of course, his timing would make it so that he'd missed the detective, right? Now he was two steps back after one step forward and—

  


No.

  


None of that.

  


If he was going to get any leads, he would have to rein himself in. "Do you have any idea as to where he could have gone?"

  


"Nick disappeared while working a case. Skinny Malone's gang had kidnapped a young woman, and Nick tracked them down to their hideout at Park Street Station. There's an old vault down there that they use as a base."

  


"I'll find him. You have my word." That very word— rather, those same words— slipped from Parker's mouth almost automatically. He always was quick to put the needs of others before his own, but this particular situation actually involved someone who could help him with those needs. In this way, he could justify this little detour to himself.

  


"Thank you," the woman said, a new, relieved smile crossing her face. "Nick should be easy to spot. He's always wearing that old hat-and-trenchcoat getup." That warm thought of her employer and friend seemed to sustain that pleasant smile for a moment, but when she was brought back to reality, her face fell once more. "Please… hurry."

  


—

  


Park Street Station proved more difficult to get through than Parker had anticipated.

  


Perhaps it was the fact that their similar names somehow jinxed him. (Parker was never one to be superstitious, but his family seemed to have instilled those sorts of thoughts in him. For those reasons, among many others, he was very glad that he moved far away from them.) Or, perhaps it was the fact that all of his military training didn't count for shit when he only had a measly pipe pistol to work with— in addition to his severe lack of armor. A T-51b suit would be really nice right now, he thought, as the ringing of gunshots in the room died out and the last of the bodies of his assailants hit the floor with a thud.

  


No matter how many times he had to kill for a purpose— even now, when he wasn't even sure what that purpose was supposed to be— he would always regret taking those lives. The waves of regret were especially potent in the sick, fluorescent light of Vault 114, when he bent down to inspect a weapon that lifeless hands had just dropped. As if it were poisoned, he picked up a .357 magnum revolver with only two fingers at first; then, of course, he silently chastised himself for being "ridiculous" as he forced himself to test the grip.

  


With his mind a bit more steeled (read: back into "combat mode"), extra ammunition was then located not only on the utility belt of the deceased individual, but also in a supply box nearby. He had yet to encounter so much of it on his way in, so he reasoned that perhaps he was drawing nearer to the place in which this Nick Valentine was kept. (Though the amount of strange, seemingly feral humanoids that he had encountered on his way in was equally concerning.)

  


His hypothesis was soon proved to be correct as he snuck through the next sliding door. No more "zombies" rushed to assault him, now, nor did any more armed gunmen; instead, a large chamber greeted him. It appeared that he was on the second of three sub-floors, each lined with equipment. The bottom floor, visible through the rectangular hole in the center of the room, appeared to be some sort of kitchen, but the top floor caught his eye the most. This was because of a rather stocky, shadily-dressed man moving around on the level in question. He was walking casually up to what appeared to be a porthole window and began to speak to someone through it.

  


"How ya doin' in there, Valentine? Feelin' hungry? Want a snack?" Parker was already listening to the conversation, of course; but at the man's mention of his target's name, he snuck carefully closer across the second floor, attention piqued.

  


"Keep talkin', meathead," a voice that could only be Valentine's responded. "It gives Skinny Malone more time to think about how he's gonna bump you off."

  


"Oh, don't give me that crap, Valentine. You know nothin', and you got nothin'."

  


"Really? I saw him writin' your name down in that black book of his. 'Lousy cheating card shark,' I think, were his words. Then he struck the name above three times."

  


This gives Valentine's verbal torturer pause, if only for a moment. "…Three strikes? In the black book? But I never…" It was clear, then, that the man had done something to screw up irreparably. He muttered something about needing to smooth things over— fast— and left in a hurry. He passed by Parker on his way; thankfully, the man had long since hidden himself behind a series of conveniently placed crates. But he'd heard more than enough to determine that it was unlikely that the stranger wasn't planning on turning around right away.

  


With that potential snag out of the way, Parker was able to make his way up onto the third floor in a slightly more relaxed fashion. Once he stood in front of the porthole, Nick Valentine now elected to speak to him.

  


"Hey, you! I don't know who you are, but we got three minutes before they realize that muscles-for-brains ain't coming back. Get this door open!"

  


Now, Parker didn't plan on taking any more orders from just anyone after having completed his time in the military, but something in that tone didn't force him to saunter over to the terminal nearby. No, instead, he found himself nodding to Nick in a determined fashion and making his way over to the keyboard to hack the terminal. This was yet another skill he'd picked up during his time in war— finding the right key values and plugging them in until something worked. With the dawn of technology came appropriate survival skills, he mused as he was able to open the door that kept Valentine caged remotely.

  


The two men met each other halfway across the room that had been the detective's prison. Parker was certain he hadn't been seeing things when he had peered through that porthole just moments ago, but he could now confirm that Nick's eyes were, indeed, black with gold irises. This was… unusual. Was this some sort of nuclear mutation? He had to readjust his focus, however, when he realized that Nick was speaking to him.

  


"Ahh, my knight in shining armor," he had said, as he reached for his lighter and a cigarette. "But the question is," a pause, here, to light said cigarette and take a puff, "why does he come all this way, risk life and limb, all for an old private eye?"

  


Parker's brow furrowed a bit. "My son, Shaun, is missing. He was kidnapped, but I don't know who took them or where they went." The hard truth, it seemed, did not get any easier with time, even if the man's trip had only been over the span of a few days. Hours? Weeks? It was all beginning to blend together, at this point.

  


Again, the man across from him snapped him out of his reverie. "…A missing kid, huh? Well, you came to the right man. If not the right place. I’ve been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the missing daughter I came here to find wasn't kidnapped. She's Skinny Malone’s new flame, and she's got a mean streak.

  


“Anyway, you got troubles, and I'm glad to help. But now ain’t the time,” He paused to extinguish that cigarette between two fingers, without flinching, no less, and toss it away. “Let’s blow this joint, then we’ll talk.”

  


In the finality of that statement laid the ghost of a smile; but, without further ado, Nick jogged off, seemingly expecting Parker to follow. And, after a few blinks to clear his head from the strange sentiments encountered during that conversation, he did just that.

  



	2. inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom, and a series of questions.

Getting out of Vault 114, compared to the difficulty and strain of Parker’s entry, was surprisingly easy.  


Nick Valentine chose to make quiet conversation between bouts with gunmen, in which he preferred the stealthy approach. (This worked nine times out of ten, as neither of them seemed to have lead feet. It was an unspoken agreement that conservation of ammunition— and of human life, where possible— needed to be prioritized.) Therein, the situation involving Skinny Malone was explained.  


It seemed that the modern mobster’s mob was forcibly removed from their “old neighborhood” by bigger players. They wandered for a bit until they stumbled upon Park Street Station, and, with some technical work, Vault 114. Its previous owners were, of course, nowhere to be found; this meant that the sanctum was theirs for the taking. After some feral Ghoul removal (ergo, removal of the monsters that Parker dealt with single-handedly), they were able to settle in quite nicely and regain their strength.  


Said strength seemed to be shown off in quite an intimidating fashion when Nick picked a lock that Parker just couldn’t figure out, for the life of him, and Malone and his crew were waiting on the other side when the duo stepped through.  


“Nicky? What’re you doin’?” Malone’s voice boomed near-immediately, and he hefted his gun a little to emphasize the seriousness of this statement. “You come into my house, shoot up my guys-- do you have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?”  


“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny,” Nick fired back, hands hovering above his own holsters. “You oughta tell her to write home more often.”  


The dame in question, Darla, stood none too far from Malone, brandishing a baseball bat. “Awwww… poor, little Valentine. Ashamed you just got beat up by a girl?” she taunted. “I’ll just run home back to daddy, shall I?”  


Emboldened, Malone started up again, “Shoulda left it alone, Nicky. This ain’t the old neighborhood. In this Vault, I’m king of the castle, y’hear me? And I ain’t lettin’ some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin’!”  


This ‘tour de force’ did not impress Darla, however. In fact, she seemed enraged as she responded to Malone. “I told you we should’ve just killed him, but then you had to get all sentimental! All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’...”  


“Darla, I’m handling this! Skinny Malone’s always got things under control!”  


“Oh yeah? Then what’s this guy doing here, huh? Valentine musta brought him here to rub us all out!”  


Parker, at this point, realized that he was being referenced-- and saw a window of opportunity that would not make it to where Valentine and himself were turned into swiss cheese, in a manner of speaking. “Darla, listen to me. You have a home to go back to. You don’t want to throw your life away with these thugs.”  


The ex-Vault dweller could sense an approving gaze out of his peripheral vision as Darla stuttered her response, “I… I… You’re right! What am I doing?! I’ve gotten all mixed up!”  


“Darla?” Malone tried, shocked by Darla’s sudden change in heart, “Wh-where’re ya goin’?”  


“Home, Skinny! Where I shoulda been all this time. This is goodbye for us.” With that, Darla made a break for Vault 114’s entrance, heels clicking on metal and tile alike as she sprinted off into the ruins of the subway.  


An upset glance over Malone’s shoulder, one that was almost filled with longing, soon turned to something angry as it was redirected towards Nick. “Oh, come on, Nicky! You cost me my men, now you and your friend cost me my girl?”  


“My friend here just did you a favor, Skinny,” Valentine responded, gesturing to indicate Parker. “You always did have bad taste in women. Now that she’s not around to feed that temper of yours, maybe you’ll see sense and let us walk? You still owe me for two weeks in the hole.”  


Skinny’s nose wrinkled, and his face screwed up angrily, not unlike an impotent child. “You smug, over-confident ass…” That insult was followed by a strange noise that sounded more like a pair of startled geese than an angry man, but Malone kept on, seemingly having come to some decision befitting his current facial expression. “All right-- you get to the count of ten! If I still see your face after that, I’m gunnin’ both of you down!”  


Parker, for a moment, had a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that he, if indirectly, just placated a mobster. Having seen and dealt with them in the area of New York in which he once lived, he couldn’t see how one could be this childish. Regardless, it was obvious that the situation was still as volatile as it was when they entered the antechamber to Vault 114-- so when Nick said, “We’d better get out of here, fast.” he was more than eager to follow. (Though Skinny Malone’s slow, childishly-angry count to ten didn’t exactly make things any more strenuous than they needed to be.)  


\--  


“Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky,” Nick Valentine remarked once he and Parker had exited Park Street Station, stretching his arms out to breathe it in a bit. “Never thought anything so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting.  


“Thanks for getting me out,” he said to Parker once he had had enough of the view. “How did you know where to find me, anyway? Not many people knew where I went…”  


“Your secretary-- Ellie, I think,” Parker answered. “She sent me, after having given your last approximate location.”  


“She did?” Valentine asked, that same slight presence of a smile returning. “I should give her a raise.  


“Now-- you mentioned something about your son, Shawn, and how he went missing. I want you to come to my office in Diamond City, give me all the details. ‘Sides, I think you’ve earned a chance to sit down and clear your head.”  


“Lead the way, if you don’t mind. I had a hard time with some thieves and...Ghouls on the way up here.”  


“Alright, let’s move fast, then. Follow me.”  


And, with that, the relatively short trip back to Diamond City began. Though, like their last little excursion, it was not entirely silent. But Parker was the one buzzing with things to say, this time-- questions about who and what Nick was (but mostly about the ‘what’ factor, he was almost embarrassed to admit) and things to further explain about his current situation. “So, Nick-- er, Mr. Valentine?”  


“Just ‘Nick’ is fine. I’m listening.”  


“I don’t mean to be rude, but… What are you?”  


“Did I… not mention the part where I’m a detective? I thought I did. Must be the two weeks in solitude catching up with me.”  


Parker chuckled. “No, I mean-- aside from that. Your species, I guess, if we’re being particularly specific.”  


Nick shot him a curious glance as they jogged onward. “You really don’t know? I’m a synth-- synthetic man. All the parts, minus a few red blood cells. I got built, I got old, I got tossed. Then I opened up that little agency in Diamond City and, as it turns out, people have plenty of problems to solve.”  


“Huh. I don’t see why you got tossed, in that case, or— anything negative, for that matter. Sounds like you're doing some great work thus far. Just hit a snag back there, right?”  


“Right… I guess.”  


Parker offered Nick a grin, then, and the synth answered with one of his own— if a bit less certain than times before. It was made clear in that little gesture that Parker shouldn't press much further about all of that yet, and so he didn’t, and let the comfortable silence reign as the impromptu duo made their way back to Diamond City.  



	3. investigation

Ellie was nothing short of excited and relieved to see Nick at the advent of his return to the Nick Valentine Detective Agency.

She had greeted him enthusiastically when he and Parker stepped into the room where the latter had been just hours earlier, after jogging in from the back at the sound of his voice. There was some disbelief in her tone, but Parker supposed that in a post-apocalyptic world such as this, the default expectation was that if someone vanishes for more than a certain amount of time, it’s unlikely that you’ll see them again.

Or that they’ll be the same when you do.

Regardless, Ellie thanked Parker endlessly when things settled down. Though the man did not initially agree to payment, she insisted that he be compensated for his hard work. The usage of caps as currency was, of course, not something that he was accustomed to quite yet, but he was glad to have the insurance-- and to be in the good graces of those that would soon be able to help him solve this mystery.

In addition to the payment, Ellie also offered Parker a worn fedora and a faded trench coat, due to the state of his current attire after the strenuous outing. “You know,” she added as the items were gifted to him, “if you’re looking for work, and you don’t mind putting on the detective hat, Nick sure could use a new partner…”

“Whoa,” Nick interjected from across the room, “one case at a time, Ellie. Our new friend needs our help, first.

“Alright-- let’s get down to business, Parker. Take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” Nick’s sweeping gesture across his desk indicated the chair across from him. Parker naturally followed suit; cautiously, he even leaned back and brought one foot up to rest its ankle on his opposite knee. He then nodded to indicate that Nick could proceed.

“Now, when you’re trying to find someone, the devil’s in the details. Tell me everything you can, no matter how...painful it might be.”

Ellie stood just behind Nick, ready to jot down any important details. Again, Parker’s brows knitted, as they usually did when he was thinking or about to discuss touchy subject matter. “We were in a Vault when it happened. Vault 111. It was some sort of cryo facility.”

“You were on ice, huh?” Nick asked, and leaned forward intently. “More importantly, you were underground. Sealed up. That’s… a lot of obstacles to get through just to take one person. Hm. What else can you tell me?”

“My wife was… murdered. She was trying to keep them from taking Shaun and they…” At this point, Parker’s fists clenched in his lap. “They just…”

“It’s okay,” Ellie stopped Parker from going into further detail. “You don’t need to say anything more.”

“So, we’re talking about a group of cold-hearted killers,” Nick mused, “but they waited until something went wrong to resort to violence. Anything else you remember?”

“There was a man and a woman. They didn’t say much, but I remember that they called me ‘the backup’.”

“A small team, then. Professionals. The kind that know how to keep their lips tight when they’re on the job. Not sure what ‘the backup’ means, though… Are there any other details you think might be important?”

“We’re looking for my son, Shaun. He’s less than a year old. Why would anyone take him?...”

“An excellent question. Why your family in particular, and why an infant? Someone would have to take on all of his care, and a baby needs a lot of it. I think that confirms it, actually-- that this isn’t a random kidnapping. Whoever took your kid had an agenda. Hmm… There’s a lot of groups in the Commonwealth that take people. Raiders, Super Mutants, the Gunners… and, of course, there’s the Institute.”

One of Parker’s brows quirked up. They had certainly passed by a majority of the aforementioned groups on the way back to Diamond City; the Super Mutants had proved to be most difficult of the three to sneak past, with their mutated hounds and bear traps. But there was no mention of any Institute until now. “So you think that this Institute might be responsible?”

“Well, they’re the boogeyman of the Commonwealth. Something goes wrong, everyone blames them. And it’s easy to see why-- those early-model synths of theirs strip whole towns for parts, killing everything in their way. Then you got the newer models, good as human, that infiltrate cities and pull strings from the shadows. Worst of all is that no one knows why they do it, what their plan is, or where they are. Not even me… and I’m a synth myself. A discarded prototype, anyway.”

Ah, the touchy subject that snuck its way in just as quietly as it drifted out, earlier. Gently, however, Parker pressed, ever so curious as to how a synth could be against the company that created them. “You’re a prototype?”

“As far as I know. Never seen any other synth like myself. There’s the older ones that are dumb as rocks and all metal, then there’s the newer ones that are almost human. I’m somewhere in between.”

“Either way-- I need to find Shaun.”

“You’re right. Sorry, this speculation is getting us off-track. Let’s focus on what you saw. What did these kidnappers look like?”

“One of them saw that I had come out of cryostasis along with my wife-- and he came right up to me. Bald head, scar across his left eye.”

“Wait. It couldn’t be. You… didn’t happen to hear the name “Kellogg” at all, did you?”

“Who is he? Do you think he might have Shawn?”

Nick leaned back in his chair, as well, now, and steepled his fingers. “Hmm… it’s way too big of a coincidence. Ellie,” he inquired, tilting his head back to look at his secretary, “what notes do we have about the Kellogg case?”

“The description matches,” Ellie confirmed. “A bald head, a scar, and a reputation for dangerous mercenary work… but no one knows who his employer is.”

“And he bought a house here in town, right? And he had a kid with him, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s right-- the house in the abandoned West Stands. The boy with him was about ten years old.”

Parker sat up in his chair at this news, hands braced on its arms. “You said he  _ lives _ here? He’s still in town?”

"They both vanished a while back, if I’m remembering right, but the house is still there…” Nick seemed to think for a moment, then, suddenly, rose from his seat and moved closer to the door. “Let’s you and I take a walk over to Kellogg’s last known address, see if we can snoop out where he went.”

“Security doesn’t really go to that part of town,” Ellie cautioned, “but you two should still be careful.”

Over his shoulder, Nick flashed that elusive smile and said, “I always am.”

 

\--

 

Parker and Nick headed off, then, into the shadier part of Diamond City. By this time, the fading tranquil blues that Nick had admired earlier in the late afternoon sky had darkened to a deep navy. Stars, surprisingly unsuppressed by the radiation that had likely thickened in the Earth’s atmosphere, shone brightly up above. Parker took a moment to gaze up at them, himself.

When he once took Shaun outside, in the neighborhood that was once their home, he would often do the same. Reaching up for the stars above if his arms were unswaddled (which, at most times, they were), his son would coo softly; and Parker’s wife, Nora, would join them, wrapping her arms around Parker’s waist. “Isn’t this beautiful?” she would remark. Not always in these words, but she always tended to wax poetic about the wonders of their lives on nights like these. “We live in a blessed world. We have everything we could ever want or need, here. You’re finally safe, I’m safe with you, and our son is right here with us.

Right, Parker?”

Parker?

Parker.

Parker Howard.

Parker Howard, Soldier of the 2nd Battalion, 108th Infantry Regiment of the U.S. Army, your presence is requested at the Veteran’s Hall in Concord--

“Parker?”

It was as though Parker was being pulled back to earth from a far-off location in the galaxy. The warmth of normality rushed in, covering up the icy-hot burn of an adrenaline rush he didn’t even know he’d had. Very gradually, he could feel his clothes making contact with his skin again, and his feet planted on the ground in his boots. It took the piercing of Nick’s gaze to make him know for sure that he had just been spoken to.

He made eye contact, and had to blink a few times before he responded. “Yeah?”

Now Nick was the one with a single raised brow. “You looked pretty lost, there. Mumblin’ and all that. You alright?”

Parker nodded, half-numbly. “Just thinking, is all. Don’t worry. If it was radiation damage or anything like that, my Pip-Boy would be all over it.”

“Whatever you say. But let’s keep moving towards Kellogg’s place. There isn’t time to waste. Oh, I wanted to mention-- and I didn’t want Ellie to hear this, but just about everything I dug up about Kellogg before his disappearance is bad news.”

“And why’s that?”

“He’s more than just a mercenary. He’s a professional. Quick, clean, thorough. Has no enemies, because they’re all dead… except you. But nine-to-one odds says he’s our man. It’s more than you just identifying his distinguishing features-- the MO is all him as well.”

“It is pretty telling. Can’t see how you can’t put those puzzle pieces together.”

“He  _ did _ lead a small team to kidnap a baby, and leave one of the parents alive for later. Not many mercs in the Commonwealth can pull that off.” Nick left that particular point as a think piece for Parker to digest as they approached Kellogg’s house.

Parker had always been the one to pick locks while others watched his back with bated breath. He had never expected to be the watchdog, so to speak, nor had he seen other techniques related to picking locks that didn’t involve a fancy kit designed specifically for that purpose. Here, Nick Valentine did amazing work with just a bobby pin and a flathead screwdriver. Within the span of a few minutes (and one broken clip), Nick had the door open.

He slid the screwdriver and bobby pin back into their respective places in his coat, opened the door, and stepped aside so that Parker might enter. “I don’t usually condone this kind of activity, but-- if it has to do with an investigation-- I know my way around a tumbler.”

“Nice work,” Parker commented, having paused in the doorframe on his way in to do so. “I was trained with a fancy kit. Took a lot of time, but it was reportedly ninety-nine percent effective.”

“Heh. Nice. I’m sure there’re kits like that floating around out there in the Commonwealth, but they’re probably chargin’ hundreds of caps for ‘em.”

“You don’t say. In the wrong hands, those things can be dangerous.” Parker gestured with a tilt of his head for Nick to follow him, and the two entered Kellogg’s house together.

“Can’t anything, these days?” Nick flicked the switch on the inside of the doorframe into its on position, and the lights flickered on as anticipated. This illuminated a relatively small dwelling-- what appeared to be a combined office space and workshop lay on the bottom floor, and up a rickety set of stairs lay what was presumably Kellogg’s bed in a loft less than half the size of the bottom floor, with pots and pans galore scattered on a table too distant to be bedside, but not far enough from that which gave it its name to be a dinner or tea table.

“Let’s take a look around,” Nick piped up after a moment of silence to scan the room for any obvious traps. “Kellogg must have left something behind.” He then made his way cautiously up the uncertain stairs to check there, leaving Parker to check below.

And so he did, looking in obvious places first-- under the couch, in a cabinet, in a toolbox. Nothing. He slid a corkboard aside on its pivot to check for secret compartments or buttons in the wall behind it-- nothing. It was when he turned around from that try to check the room over a second time that he noticed the button beneath the ill-placed desk, likely the instigator of one too many hip-checks. But a perfect place to hide a button that exposes something incriminating, Parker thought to himself as he pressed it, or anything else like that.

It seemed to be the former case, because when the button was pressed, a portion of the wall to the right of the house’s front door slid away. Nick turned around to face it, wearing a look of surprise; his eyebrows shot up into a hairline he didn’t seem to have. “...Well. That’s one way to hide a room.”

Size-wize, Parker didn’t find the room to be much more of an extension on the already space-optimized house. Sure, empty, it could likely fit about 16 people with adequate breathing room, but the place was walled on one side with a lengthy shelf and on the other by a cabinet. In the center of the room sat a red velvet chair; next to that sat an ammo box, and on its other side was a crate. Parker approached the last of these upon seeing that items lay atop it, and announced his findings to his apparent partner. “Hey, Nick. Look here. Forty-four caliber bullets, Gwinnett Stout Beer… and cigars. ‘San Francisco Sunlights’.”

“Interesting brand,” Nick remarked, picking up one of the cigars in question for closer inspection. “Won’t lead us anywhere on its own, though.”

“There’s gotta be someone who can help with this sort of forensics.”

The synth made a quizzical expression. “Yeah… Lemme think. There is someone I know. A specialist, of a kind; he always goes his own way, but I can get him here.”

Parker looked concerned for a fleeting moment, but quickly batted that away. Help is help. “If he can help us, let’s do it.”

“Alright, I’ll send out the signal.” Nick removed from his pocket something that Parker thought, at first glance, to be a cigarette; but he soon recognized it as some sort of whistle. “You’re not gonna hear it. Frequency is high, but he’ll pick it up.” With that, he blew into the whistle, which-- of course-- had no sound, aside from the air that was being pushed through it. A couple of beats passed before he spoke again. “Okay-- I’ve called him. Let’s wait outside.”

It was less than a few minutes outside under the blanket of Diamond City’s night until the scratching and clacking of what sounded like claws began to grow louder and louder. Parker almost went for his revolver, but Nick’s hand on his forearm for a brief moment stopped that action before it could evolve into shooting-on-sight.

An approaching shadow from around the tower of boxes that partially obscured the stairs morphed into something smaller and smaller until… there, at Nick and Parker’s feet, stood a dog.

Of all things-- a normal dog in this brave, new wasteland.

He bore a striking resemblance to a dog that Parker had had for a time in his youth: a spry-looking German Shepherd with that grinning pant and glossy brown-and-black coat. His neck was scruffy and bore no collar or bandana, but he seemed to be otherwise well-groomed.

Parker, endeared, but respectful of the power of a dog (especially in these circumstances), approached with caution. “Hey, boy,” he almost-cooed, and he kneeled to offer a hand for the dog to sniff. Which he did, equally cautious, then ‘boof’ed non-threateningly and butted his cold, wet nose into Parker’s hand. And, for the first time in a while, Parker laughed-- genuinely laughed. Maybe dogs were more stress-relieving than he had once thought.

When he got back to his feet and faced Valentine, he seemed to be grinning at the sight of Dogmeat. (Here, Parker made a note to himself: Nick is [likely] not as stoic as other detectives he’s met or heard about. Maybe that smile just isn’t that rare after all.) “Looks like Dogmeat’s here. Ready to get to work?”

“I take it he’s gonna track the scent of...what, the cigars?”

“Bingo. A Commonwealth mutt like him can track a man’s scent for miles. And, if that man happens to be a chainsmoker-- which, with Kellogg’s line of work, and his habits from our case file, is highly likely-- then the ‘eau de toilette’ is gonna be pretty strong.”

Parker made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle, amused at Nick’s choice of words. “Says the one who smokes, too. We used to do the same thing in certain situations in the military, using dogs to track specific scents. You’d be just as prime a target for this sort of thing.”

“Hey, now. Your faith in me is really starting to become inspiring. At least it doesn’t cling to me as bad-- and at least it won’t ruin my air recyclers, like it’d kill your lungs. Or, in this case, Kellogg’s.”

“Fair. Maybe he’ll inundate himself with carcinogens before we wind up finding him.”

“Wishful thinking will get you everywhere, Parker. Now, go ahead, give our friend here a whiff of that cigar. See if he can find our man.”

Parker shook his head with a grin and turned back to Dogmeat. He was about to kneel and offer the cigar to the canine when Nick caught him by the shoulder and spoke again. “Wait-- uh, one more thing.

“Before you head out… I know this is personal business. If you have to face Kellogg on your own, just say so. Besides, you already have plenty of company. We can’t all go sniffing through the Commonwealth after one man.”

Again, something in the detective’s tone and the way he had helped Parker thus far compelled him to say, “I want you with me on this, Nick. It’ll be good to have a second pair of eyes to keep on Dogmeat, and a back to keep against my own.”

Nick, seemingly surprised yet again, wore the briefest look of shock-- before it turned into an almost fiery, determined smile. “Alright. Let’s get that bastard. This is your show from here on out, okay? You say jump, I’ll say ‘how high’.”

“Only as high as we have to with this.”


	4. expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thoughts can be dangerous to one's self and those around them.

Without further ado, Dogmeat led the search party of Parker and Nick Valentine out of Diamond City.

The three wastelanders headed southwest under the ever-dark Commonwealth sky. Streetlights occasionally added a patch of brightness to their radiation-battered path, but, for the most part, they relied on their own eyesight, sense of smell (in Dogmeat’s case), and Pip-Boy light (in Parker’s case, where the darkness was too extreme to fathom). However, it wasn’t long before Dogmeat barked in a alert fashion and, with ears perked, stopped near a seemingly misplaced series of chairs and other debris beside a lake.

The two remaining members of the group approached said pile. “Hmm…” Nick remarked, eyes critical of the apparent mess. “Kellogg must have stopped here, if Dogmeat’s so insistent about this spot. Search around, Parker, and see if you can pick up the trail.”

Determined, Parker approached the pile, too, and found yet another one of Kellogg’s signature San Francisco Sunlights in a dirty ashtray. He picked up the used cigar between two fingers, scrutinizing it. “Here— one’a those San Francisco Sunlights. Kellogg’s preferred brand, alright.”

“I'm tellin’ ya, that nose is second-to-none.” Nick remarked, expression vaguely smug.

“I guess Dogmeat’s sticking with us until we get a solid lead, then,” Parker replied, moving to scratch the top of the dog’s head. “Hear that? We gotta stick together, pal. At least until we find Kellogg.”

Dogmeat butted the top of his head up into Parker’s hand and panted happily at the little action of praise.

“What do you think, boy?” Parker inquired to Dogmeat, and then offered him another sniff of the new cigar. “Is this enough to go on?”

After having sniffed the tobacco product thoroughly, Dogmeat seemed to come to the conclusion that yes, this was enough to go on. As if to confirm this, he barked twice, and, after a thorough sniff of the air, continued their path.

With that, the trio was bound west along a well-rusted railroad track. In this fashion, Parker was briefly reminded of his time in the South, at his old home— wherein his mother would warn him not to play along the train tracks under any circumstances. She would always glance left and right when they would drive over them, too, even if there was no obvious sign of an approaching train. He now realized that this was not just paranoia that drove her actions, back then; it was fear of human error. Not unlike the fear of button pressing that could further destroy the world that drives the Commonwealth today.

It was almost funny to Parker, then, how often he was getting distracted from his goal by thoughts of the past and of homes he would never see again. But in that moment, he was distracted to the point of not hearing the tremulous squeals and scratches in the earth of mole rats— which, of course, was far from funny. (Disgusting, really.)

The ugly creature nearest him was quickly dispatched with a series of shots from his revolver; in the time it took him to reload, however, two of them had targeted Dogmeat. The mutt initially whined as he took the brunt of one mole rat’s attack, then snarled and snapped at its face, tearing a good chunk of it clean off. Thankfully, the second was shot dead by Nick and Parker’s combined effort.

Closer, frantic inspection of Dogmeat's abrasions revealed that— thankfully and surprisingly— no scratch of mole rat claws or teeth had broken the surface of his skin. As most dogs tend to do, Dogmeat even looked proud. He had hunted successfully for his friends! And that meat he had snatched up in his jaw had tasted vaguely okay! What a glorious day to be a dog!

And so the journey to the next clue continued without any further ‘pit stops’. Dogmeat eventually led Nick and Parker towards a long slab of concrete embedded in the ground that likely belonged to something that was once a highway. Down a myriad of stairs the three went, pushing aside overgrown vines all the while, and they eventually entered the highway itself under the blanket of pre-dawn. Debris, destroyed cars, and all sorts of rubble lay strewn about; but Dogmeat seemed more focused on something else.

Namely, a corpse.

A headless corpse.

Both Parker and Nick had seen a lot of horrifying sights in their respective lines of work, so neither batted an eye; Dogmeat just seemed happy to have found something out of the ordinary.

To the left of the corpse in question was a broken turret, obviously meant to keep people like Kellogg away. “Looks like another one of Kellogg’s pit stops,” Nick warned, though that was already well established to all present. “Keep your eyes open.”

Hanging on a pipe behind the destroyed turret was a series of strips of bloodied bandages. Parker lifted them with care and seemed to inspect the spatters of blood, for a moment. Then, the bandages were offered to Dogmeat. Again, the dog found that this scent was enough to continue the trail with, and sprinted off through a nearby doorway and up a subsequent set of stairs.

The train tracks were followed once more— though this particular part of the trail was due northwest. Here, feral dogs were encountered and subsequently dealt with. (“Didn’t even break a sweat,” Nick huffed at the conclusion of this fight. “Not that it’s an option.” Parker snickered in spite of himself, and of the situation.) In addition, a Yao Guai scared the living daylights out of Parker by darting out of the surrounding bushes. It would have very nearly ended him if Dogmeat had not intervened, and if he had not shotgunned the beast in its face at the last possible second.

With what was seemingly the worst of the trip behind them, the scent-path took the three into a shady warehouse— one that had a rather lengthy spiral staircase going downward inside. This was part of the path, of course, and so it was that they traversed it. The tentative risk was outweighed by the reward, however, as a bottle of Gwinett Stout was found at the mouth of what was once a subway tunnel. It was next to a plastic chair and rested on an end table; as such, it was clear that this stop may have been a bit more lenient than the others on Kellogg’s agenda. But with the lip of the bottle offered to Dogmeat, this was simply another aspect for the case file as the path was thusly drawn further into the Commonwealth’s ruins.

 

\----

 

The search party now had to cross a bridge laden with rusted vehicles to reach their next destination.

The thought occurred to Parker that this was quite the lengthy trip— as the somewhat lazy human mind is persuaded to do, of course, it was in the context of ‘he should stop now, because this is pointless’. A moment of his determined anger shone through as he refuted his own thought. ‘No,’ he told himself, ‘this is for Shawn. Not for my own good. There is no valid reason to stop.’

Unless, of course, that reason is highly irradiated and is scratching at you with its horribly overgrown nails. Which, in that moment, another feral Ghoul was: attacking Parker in its usual lopsided fashion. Again he had been distracted in his own head; and, again, it looked as though it was about to cost him his own life.

Though, this time, there was no last-minute solution.

He was out of ammo.

So, naturally, Parker fought—  he bashed the end of his shotgun against the irradiated monstrosity countless times. When it took his weapon and flung it into the river that the bridge was constructed over, he slugged at its face and chest with his fists. It eventually went down, but three more came up in its place like a hydra not properly killed.Through a new haze of what Parker would later find to be radiation sickness, he kept fighting until a Ghoul’s errant, weak excuse for a fist clocked him across the temple. This knocked his head into the payload of a nearby eighteen-wheeler truck, and… he saw nothing but patches of light and his last glimpses of the Commonwealth as he went down.

Between the stars and stripes of his new head trauma, he could see and hear Dogmeat tearing into his attackers; once he was on the ground (which didn’t do much good for his injuries, of course), he could see Nick fighting his way in towards him, too. He pistol-whipped and shot his way through the apparent horde of Ghouls until he got to Parker.

But even then, he was already slipping away. Even when Nick knelt next to him and urgently called his name, shook him gingerly by the shoulder.

The approaching void felt better than the pain of this horrible nightmare.

And so he embraced it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's not gonna die, i swear. trust me on this one.


	5. mindscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rude awakening.
> 
> possible trigger warnings for dissociation, unreality, and death.

The void was nice, for a spell. Floating free, bodiless, and feeling nothing. The closest substitute that Parker would later offer for the sensation would be spending a few years in a sensory deprivation tank— but even then, that would be all too corporeal to fit perfectly. In reality, the void was indescribable.

  


It gave him time to think, but it did not let him think. Thoughts had already killed him. He felt that he was above thinking back on his life, now; then, remembering he had something that he couldn't quite remember to cling to, he resented that thought. So he was at an impasse with himself, yet, for once in recent (or were they far away or long ago?) times, he felt at peace.

  


But, as the constant through his entire life, all good things must come to an end. And so the void faded out ever so slowly into a cold whiteness that surrounded Parker and reactivated every sense he had ever known at once. He had known sensory overload, certainly, but nothing like this: every taste bud active, every inch of skin alive with feeling, every part of his vision clouded with color, every scent he had ever encountered rushing in, and every possible sound in perfect yet still-dissonant harmony.

  


When the inundation of burning sensation faded, he knew one thing: that he was asleep (a deep sleep; likely worse, but it was all that he could muster to himself) and that he was in the waking world once more.

  


\---

  


On waking up, Parker found himself standing up in a ballroom.

  


This was familiar, at the edge of his mind, yet unfamiliar to him. He was able to move, after some deliberate thought, but it was not in a direction which he had wanted to move. For instead of taking his usual route around the edge of the room, it was straight through the pulsing, swaying crowd and towards the general that he had taken orders from (if very indirectly) during his time in the army. He and the general shook hands, and spoke candidly, as they had never actually done. In some context, it felt right; yet none of what the general was saying made sense as Parker attempted to actively listen. Something about shoestrings, waking up, and an inquiry as to whether he heard that hissing sound just now.

  


The alien conversation seemed to end there as they saluted one another and parted. The general seemed to vanish into the crowd, then. When Parker deliberately looked for him, there was no trace of the distinctive formal wear. Perhaps he had ducked off into one of the several halls along the ballroom’s walls, or out onto a balcony? Whatever the case might have been, it was none of his business, that was for certain.

  


As he reassured himself of this repeatedly, he could hear his full name and rank being called up on a nearby stage; the entire room turned to look at him and clap, and a spotlight shone down on him. He waved modestly and stepped ever so slowly towards the aforementioned stage. It felt as though he was walking through molasses. Time then slowed to a crawl in a fitting fashion, as if to match his pace, and as he pulled out notecards for the speech he was about to give, he tripped and fell.

  


And kept falling.

  


And falling.

  


An echo of “war never changes” from a rendition of his practiced speech began to softly repeat itself, then layered over and over itself in a deafening fashion. He could feel a vaguely familiar sensory overload coming on again, and he was only briefly able to wonder if he was melting through time before his senses were washed out once more.

  


\---

  


“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Doctor Sun.”

  


“It’s hardly a problem, Detective. I owe you a favor or two after helping out those distressed clients.”

  


“Heh. Trust me, it was a bigger deal than it looked. It turned out the twins’ father had been murdered by their stepmother, and the way she did it and certain other evidence led me to believe that they were her very next targets.”

  


“Mm. So I've heard. And I take it this particular client is a bigger deal than he initially looked, too?”

  


“Yeah, actually. He's tied in directly with a cold case that we had no reason to keep digging in to.”

  


“Is that all that it is? You usually leave dead men to tell no more of their tales.”

  


“I can assure you that that is all that it is. Besides, the guy didn’t get killed. Just badly irradiated and concussed. Naturally, I'm gonna do what I can to save him if he's not terminal.”

  


“Of course. I would have done the same. Though your retelling of the Ghoul attack story itself led me to believe that you had an ulterior motive.”

  


“And that would be?”

  


“Nothing. Just that you're rarely so dramatic about one person.”

  


“That doesn't answer my question at all, Doc.”

  


“Then maybe you have to ask yourself more questions. But I think mine have run out. I do have some doctors’ orders, for now, though.”

  


“… Let’s hear ‘em.”

  


“Let the Rad-Away IV flush his system until this timer goes off. You'll then be able to safely remove it from its site of insertion, as I know your hands are steady. Then, apply a stimpak to the point that I've marked here. That should bring his fever down and bring him back to the waking world. If any other problems should occur, do not hesitate to send Dogmeat after me again. I did say I owe you a favor or two, after all.”

  


“Thank you, Doc. You’re a lifesaver.”

  


“You’re welcome. Just don’t let my hard work here go to waste by getting yourselves killed.”

  


\---

  


Rain was the first thing to alight on Parker’s skin when he next returned to consciousness. That, and the sensation of being partially caked in mud. The subtly orange hue of the thickly clouded sky up above reminded him of something specific.

  


As he wracked his brain for a solution to this puzzle, he was suddenly tackled by someone unfamiliar to him at first— mostly because they were a blur. He and his mysterious assailant tumbled over one another for a time. Their laughter echoed in his ears and all around until he was able to recognize its owner: Nora.

  


A much, much younger version of his wife grinned down at him. She asked him if he was having fun yet, and what he would like to do next. Unlike the last situation (of which Parker had no recollection, just a vague impression that he was somewhere else before this), it seemed he was not in control here, and he felt himself asking if they could go back to the stream and wash this dirt and mud off. The young Nora wrinkled her nose up at first, but then laughed again and nodded. Quick as a flash, she was up off of Parker and bolting for the water’s edge (which was mysteriously isolated. The grass and trees around it were there, but… hard to acknowledge.)

  


Once Parker had sat up to watch her go, he made sure of their route, scrambled to his feet, and sprinted after her. The chase didn’t last long, however, as Nora leaped into the stream and sunk into bodily down into waters previously expected to be shallow. Alarmed, Parker picked up the pace and leapt in as well.

  


When he opened his eyes under the surface, he was face to face with the young Nora underwater; and, even with the distortion and various angles of light, he could see an equally young version of himself reflected in her eyes (which seemed too big to be real, right now). At this, he shuddered. She seemed to giggle, for a moment, then pressed her nose briefly to Parker’s in a familiar fashion and moved to swim downwards. He had no choice but to follow her, almost magnetized-- just as the dynamic between them felt, if less defined in emotional terms, when they were children.

br />

There seemed to be no need for air the further down they went, strangely enough. However, a more realistic expectation came to light: it was getting darker, and, thusly, harder for Parker to see Nora as they progressed. But there was the creeping sensation of something else approaching in the form of a whisper.

  


And then, gradually, it became many whispers. All of them had the same voice, but they seemed to be in different pitches, in different locations all around Parker in this place that was close to something recent, something familiar that he couldn’t quite grasp right now. He could feel Nora nearby, but he could not feel Nora nearby as the whispers grew louder and louder. Their intonation remained the same, however, so it was now escalating into some horrible hissing and crackling that surrounded him.

  


He moved to bring his hands over his ears to achieve relief and found that they did so ever so slowly. When they reached their target, they provided none of the solace from sound that he sought. The whispers only crescendoed into something unbearable until they stopped all at once to isolate Nora’s voice, ever so close and just as whisper-like:

  


“It’s time to swim up, Parker.”

  


\---

  


And swim up he did.

  


Parker woke, physically woke to the non-dreaming plane of existence, by means of bolting upright and gasping as if breathing for the first time after resuscitation. He nearly bumped his bandaged head on a low-hanging shelf above the makeshift cot on which he lay in doing so, and definitely startled Dogmeat, who picked his head up all too quickly from the couch across from his cot. Man and man’s best friend seemed to take each other in for a moment before Dogmeat offered a happy ‘wuuf’ and leapt up to attach himself to Parker’s side and lick at his face. Parker managed a bout of raspy laughter and rubbed at the mutt’s furry sides. “I’m okay, boy, really. I just… had to rest, for a while.”

  


At this, Dogmeat seemed alerted to the fact that someone should be notified of this new development. He barked once in such a fashion and untangled himself from Parker in order to sprint out of the room through a doorway with only about a quarter of a door left. With this newfound freedom, Parker eased his legs over the side of the cot and stood with relative ease… until he realized that his legs did not want to work for him just yet, jellying underneath him, and he was forced to flop back down a bit harder than he would have liked. The action, and all subsequent movements caused by it, made him wince. Muscle aches were not unusual for him, but he had not moved (or had he?) for… how long, now?

  


“Two days,” a familiar voice answered him, and shocked him out of the thoughts which it had invaded. “You’ve been asleep for two days. Thought you should know.”

  


A turn of his head revealed Nick Valentine in the doorway. The lit cigarette between his fingers was dropped and crushed under his heel, and he walked over to sit on the raggedy couch that Dogmeat had just left. (The dog in question was outside for the moment, now, likely investigating stray Ghoul corpses or rubble-- giving the two men a moment to talk without distraction.)

  


“Nick,” Parker tried as he moved to stand again, slow and deliberate. “Do we need to get going, or is there--”

  


“No, don’t get up just yet, Parker. You still need another day to heal. Doctor’s orders.”

  


The gesture of an outstretched metal hand and the tiniest of smiles willed Parker not to stand any further, and so he didn’t; but he did make sure his next attempt at sitting wasn’t so abrupt. “Do you have a medical degree I’m not aware of, or is Dogmeat some sort of domestic werewolf doctor?”

  


That drew a chuckle out of Nick. “You’ve got one hell of an active imagination. No. Neither of those are right. What I mean is, I got Doctor Sun from Diamond City out here to come look at you.”

  


“...Thanks. Going off the way I look right now, I needed the help.”

  


“Of course. I wasn’t just gonna leave you to the damn Ghouls.”

  


“How’d that end up, by the way? I remember being knocked out cold by circumstance, but nothing after that.” Nothing but vague impressions of a series of surreal dreams mixed with time long since passed and time yet to pass. But he wasn't about to mention that yet.

  


“I got ‘em off of you with some creative shooting. A couple followed a molotov cocktail I pitched right off a bridge, too; made things easier for us both.”

  


“So I was conscious at some point?”

  


“No, not quite. But I have heard you mumblin’ a little when I’ve been in and out of here to check on you. Also part’a the doctor’s orders.”

  


“Huh.” Again, the trip out of the world and back into it went unmentioned. (Though the involuntary reaction made sense when correlated with the intensity of the experience in dreams.)

  


“‘Huh’, indeed.”

  


A verbal pause ensued as the two regarded each other for a moment; then, Nick broke the strange eye contact as he closed his eyes for a moment to sigh. “Listen. Can I talk frankly with you for a second?”

  


“Go for it.” Parker raised a brow, curious, but listened intently.

  


“If you wanna get any answers with this excursion, and not get yourself killed or essentially comatose with rads again, you need to stay out of your own head as best you can. I’ve already noticed that that’s a thing you do, and it’s only been a few days.”

  


The apparently too-cerebral man in question sat up a bit straighter, and he could feel a little heat rush to his cheeks in embarrassment. “Yeah, I-- sorry. It’s just… there’s a lot to take in, what with…”

  


“I know. With everything that’s happened,” Nick finished, and gestured in an overarching circle with his more human-like hand to make that point. “And I’m not docking you for that. I just don’t wan’t you dyin’ because you got lost in your thoughts trying to get answers. I know I came close early on in this line of work, bein’ a similar kind of mind that you are.

  


“The better idea that saved me a lot of time and injury is to figure out the one point or group of points that you know, and work on those first. One at a time, if there’s a series of ‘em. Then figure out what leads you come up with from there. If you get distracted, remember that you got a target to aim for, and work on that first before anything else. There’s always gonna be a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light is uncovering the truth.”

  


Parker blinked, and gave himself a moment to process all of that. It wasn't surprising that Nick gave sound advice, but it was described in such detail, and he wanted to remember as much of it as possible. Especially since he was most definitely aware that this wasn't some strange dream, and this was the world that he was going to live in for the rest of his natural life. Slowly, he managed a nod. “I got it, yeah. Getting it, at least. I dunno what’s come over me; I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I'm-- ex-military. We're usually told we're single-minded; I don't know what's got me so spaced out.”

  


“The brain’s weird like that-- in both of us, even, human and synth. Anyone would really be shaken up in a time of crisis like this, just like you said. It’s not like you’re completely excluded from that rule because of your past or who you are now. I just need you to get at least some of that driven focus back so we can help each other out to ultimately help you and your son. That sound doable?”

  


“Yeah. I think I can handle that.” Drilling down into the mindset he was so used to having might not be so hard if it came to the fight for Shawn.

  


“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Nick said, and rose from his chair with that not-so-fleeting smile on his face again. “Come find me if you need anything, I’ll be keeping watch over this old ruin of a house we’re in. Otherwise… get some more rest.”

  


Parker mock-saluted Nick and lay back down on his cot, tried to get comfortable again. (The detective left Parker to sleep, then, shutting the broken door behind him.) He felt stiff, briefly, and realized that he had been sleeping (or unconscious, rather) in the armor pieces he had picked up along the whole of this strange journey. So, naturally, those were plucked off and set aside, and the isolation of the comfortable Vault Suit fabric against the surprisingly plushy cot felt a hundred times better. He could feel the tension in his muscles relax to his usual minimum, and the hold of sleep began to caress him once more.

  


Within just a few minutes, he returned to the much realer void of dreamless slumber.


	6. Chapter 6

Once Parker was back on his feet, the rest of the hunt for Kellogg’s current location continued in a fairly smooth fashion. The group discovered a rather dismantled Assaultron sitting on the side of the road that spoke with almost a sense of urgency about a dangerous, armed mercenary. It took only a handful of words, a discarded San Francisco Sunlight, and a mutual nod for Nick and Parker to determine that Kellogg had most definitely committed this act. (Yet both shared the same unmentioned thought: it was as though the high-powered hitman was leading them right into a trap.)

The rest of the trail was breezed through with an increasing sense of urgency until Dogmeat came to a stop in front of a building that looked like some sort of old cinema in its front, more than anything; this particular illusion was ruined by copious sandbags and cement blocks that protected vital points on the roof, however. A sign, none too flashy, read that this was Fort Hagen. And, judging by turrets that whirred and beeped in the relative distance, it was a fort still protected and not left to rot after the war like most others. The fact that Dogmeat picked up his pace and sprinted into its conveniently-barricaded entryway just to bark at it only drove the nail in-- this was the place.

As Parker knelt to pat Dogmeat for a job well done, Nick spoke up, grinning despite the obvious obstacle that lay in front of them. “I knew Dogmeat would sniff our man out. Let’s you and I take it from here, give our four-legged friend a break.”

“Rest up and then head on home, boy,” Parker said, scratching the top of the dog’s head affectionately. “Wherever that might be.” Dogmeat offered a bark in agreement, and circled twice before he settled himself on the ground.

With that detail taken care of, Parker rose to face Nick. “Are you prepared to head in?”

“The better question is,” Nick responded, and tossed his current cigarette aside, “are you?”

“I think so. Ammunition and Stimpaks up to my ears, armor’s all in place.”

“You ready in the… emotional context, too?”

“That, I don’t know. But I do know I want to get in there. There’s no time left to waste on tears, loaded words, or punched pillows. Not for Shawn’s sake.”

“Good answer.”

Parker nodded his assent to the statement, focus shifting, and turned on his heel to lead the search party (of two) for another way into Fort Hagen. As it turned out, the easiest possible way was through its garage, to the left of the entryway; no turrets, Securitrons, or even inconvenient walls blocked their path. Only the remains of old cars and miscellaneous garbage seemed to hang around their feet like the ghosts of things that were once grand.

Not a word was spoken as the detective and his client pushed their way into the Fort, guns drawn. Directly across from the garage entrance was another door, which seemed convenient enough at first glance. However, when Parker tried it, he found that it seemed to click and clang against what were presumed to be chains on the other side. With a grimace, he motioned for Nick to follow him up the stairs instead.

They barely made it onto the first landing when a voice that sounded too manufactured to be some military-remnant guard rang out. “Is someone present?” it inquired, seemingly sensing the slight motion incurred by Nick and Parker. Both men froze, and, after a beat or two, it piped up again, “The sensitivity of my sensors clearly needs adjustment.” which led Parker to sigh in a relieved fashion.

A skeleton in tattered military fatigues, likely someone who died on the day the bombs dropped, was kicked aside in the duo’s haste to ascend the stairs. When they reached the staircase’s uppermost landing, they discovered a terminal-- presumably a terminal that controlled the currently dormant Protectron nearby. “If you want me to take a look at that, just say the word,” Nick whispered, and gestured to the computer. “Always had a way with machines.”

Parker matched Nick’s volume. “Looks like it’s locked. You sure?”

“You kiddin’ me? I’ve been undoing ciphers like these for as long as I can remember. Comes with the territory. Gimme a moment.” With a glance spared around to ensure that the voice they heard did not yet have any eyes on them in the area, Nick made his way quickly over to the terminal and inserted a holotape into it, then began typing away. “Clearly, security wasn’t their priority here… ease of access was higher up,” A beep sounded from the terminal, then, with a grin, Nick stepped back from it and removed the aforementioned holotape-- likely containing years’ worth of hand-compiled common passwords. “Got it. All yours.”

The rapidity of the success surprised Parker; hell, it even impressed him a little bit. He’d have to ask Nick about the methods behind his madness later. “Thanks. I’m-- just gonna activate this thing,” a gesture to the Protectron, “maybe give us a little extra firepower on the way in.”

“You don’t see me complaining.”

Within moments more, the duo became a trio again, even if the Protectron sort of forged its own path, seemingly pre-routed for a specific direction. Despite this technical misalignment with their own path, the robot provided some cover fire and absorbed damage from the onslaught of Synths that came just minutes later. This was the first that Parker had seen-- or that he knew he had seen-- of Synths outside of Nick Valentine. They kept mentioning that this was Kellogg’s property, and that the Institute would not stand for this violation of territory boundaries, and such things.

When the Protectron finally fell, so had all of the hostile Synths in the area. Parker picked fusion cell ammunition from their weapons in passing, but otherwise made no attempt to further interact with their bodies of broken wire and torn synthetic skin. Nick reassured him that there was no need to be so ginger with them. They had, after all, attacked the two of them first; and even if they wore similar faces, Parker got the understandable impression in Nick’s undertones that he had no wish to be associated with them whatsoever.

From there on out, it was only a matter of Parker and Nick fighting their way inward through wave after wave of Synths. Despite these trivial setbacks, it appeared surprising amount of ‘goodies’ were left behind in the fort-- various anti-radiation drugs, explosives, weapons, and ammunition. These supplemented Parker’s already plentiful supplies, and brought up his confidence just a bit. (There was therein, of course, a difference between the confident front he was putting up and the actual confidence that he possessed.) Nick proved to be invaluable in freeing up some of these caches by hacking terminal after terminal to open magnet-locked security doors. The spoils of such trickery were always split between them; for even if Nick stuck to his pipe pistol revolver like glue, Parker reasoned that he could always use a backup weapon or two. Or, as he jokingly put it in terms of what they had found thus far, ‘three to five’.

It was the unmistakeable voice over the intercom that put these light-hearted feelings to rest, however. “If it isn’t my old friend, the frozen TV dinner,” Kellogg’s voice echoed throughout the facility as Nick and Parker descended down a flight of stairs. “Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler.” The man being spoken to gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his gun, but made no noise, no snide remark.

With every corner they turned, Kellogg found a reason to taunt Parker. “Sorry your house has been a wreck for two hundred years, but I don’t need a roommate,” the mercenary almost sighed. “Leave.” That last word, of course, was a bit firmer, a bit more annoyed. But the silence continued, as did the team of ‘intruders’.

“Hmph. Never expected you to come knocking on my door. I gave you fifty-fifty odds of making it to Diamond City. After that? Figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky.” Each Synth shot down by Parker seemed a bit more destroyed as Kellogg became more abrasive. But he refused to allow the man’s words to eat at him any further than that.

“Look, you’re pissed off, I get it, I do,” Kellogg ‘conceded’ over the announcement system as the fight against countless defenses became nothing more than a chore. “But whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It’s not gonna go your way.”

Softly, as if he could be heard by his wife’s killer, Parker mumbled, “Sure, dumbass, it’s not like we already took out a majority of your defensive line or anything like that.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Nick murmured back, equally cautious. “That’s what he wants. It isn’t going to be this easy, relatively speaking, once we actually get to him.”

“How do you know that that’s gonna be true?”

“Because I know Kellogg. Not on a personal level, mind you, but from my previous investigation. He’s manipulative and sneaky as hell, and he’ll use everything in his arsenal to get what he wants. Even if it’s just something as petty as someone’s time wasted on anger.”

“...Noted.”

“Take a deep breath, and let’s keep moving.”

Parker did just that— took in a breath through his nose, held it for a brief moment, and then exhaled through his mouth. His focus only grew sharper, but his (rational, but uncontrolled) anger settled. With a nod, they went deeper into Fort Hagen.

“You've got guts and determination, and that’s admirable,” Kellogg droned. His voice echoed down a new hallway and stirred another fleet of Synths to rise from their dormant positions and attack. “But you are in over your head in ways you can’t imagine.

“It’s not too late. Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option. Not many people can say that.” The sheer seriousness in Kellogg’s voice surprised both of his intruders, but it did not stop the one of them that he had harmed directly from proceeding whatsoever.

When Nick unlocked a huge storage cache with his apparent mastery of hacking, Parker’s hand hovered heavily over what appeared to be a nuke launcher inside. (Nick watched him without judgement; if he wanted the fight to be over quickly, so be it. But he might also cause damage to himself in the process.) After a moment or two, however, Parker managed to decide against this particular strategy— likely coming to the same conclusion— and shook his head as he turned to pick through the less volatile weapons. Finding that none would outdo his current laser rifle, he simply unloaded their stores of ammo and took them for himself.

As they pushed through yet another door that led into an official-looking set of quarters (with unfamiliar, stark white equipment littered here and there), their target spoke one last time. “Okay. You made it. I’m just up ahead. My synths are standing down. Let’s talk.”

And Kellogg did not lie; up one last set of stairs and past a mag-locked security door which opened at their arrival was the killer of Parker’s wife in the flesh. The lights in the room came on one at a time, eventually illuminating the murderer’s approach. “And there he is,” Kellogg almost-murmured, stance casual, even with a gun in his right hand. “The most resilient man in the Commonwealth. Funny; I thought I had that honor. You came a long way. Let’s hear it.”

Parker found himself baring and clenching his teeth as he next spoke. “You murdering, kidnapping psychopath. Give me my son. Give me Shaun! Now!”

“Right to it, then, huh? Okay. Fine. Your son, Shaun-- great kid. A little older than you may have expected, but I’m guessing you figured that out by now. But if you’re hoping for a happy reunion, it ain’t gonna happen, pal. Your boy’s not here.”

“ _ Fuck you _ , Kellogg.”

“Let him go. Your time’s done. Your son is exactly where he belongs. He’s home. In the Institute.”

“So where is it, then, huh? Where’s this ‘Institute’? You know full well that that isn’t Shaun’s real home, so don’t fucking call it that.  _ How _ do I get there?”

Kellogg huffed a laugh. “Haven’t you been paying attention? You don’t find the Institute. The Institute finds you. You open the closet, it’s just… a closet. You can never find the monster that hides inside. Not until it jumps out at you.

“But I think we’ve been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end. So,” Kellogg paused to shrug all-too casually, “you ready?”

Parker, forcing his rage to be under some semblance of control so that his hands would not shake, took calculated, slow steps back. “Oh, I’m ready. The question is, are you?” And with that, he let his laser rifle’s current clip loose on Kellogg.

The man took the brunt of the sudden assault, and the armed synths surrounding Parker and Nick flew into action, firing back where he did not just yet. Instead of returning fire, Kellogg decided to cloak himself using technology that Parker had only seen used during his wartime days. A Stealth Boy.

The familiar distortion that results in a Stealth Boy’s use in motion was still barely visible, however, and gave Parker the opportunity to dodge his shots while focusing on the lackeys that had previously only stood guard. Any stinging bodily pain of the shots of energy weapons hardly seemed to matter, now. Combat brought forward adrenaline, and adrenaline both suppressed and intensified the rage within him that had long since burst past its dam of internalization.

Kellogg had only had two Synths in the room with him. With a shout, Nick ended one by flipping it to the floor and then emptying his revolver’s clip into its face. Parker took the other down by means of putting numerous holes in its torso. And, with that, they only needed to take down Kellogg.

The two moved wordlessly so that they were back to back in the largest empty space in the room, guns drawn, and eyes searching for that tell-tale shimmer that would give Kellogg away. Silence ensued as they rotated, keeping all fronts covered. Parker was the first to spot it, and lobbed a grenade that he had picked up in the direction that he assumed that Kellogg was moving. A grunt was barely audible underneath the resulting explosion, meaning that it had affected him in one way or another.

But the effect of the blast was not yet enough to down the mercenary, as he returned fire with a volley of laser rifle shots. Nick and Parker dove to cover, and the former of the two peeked out of said cover to return fire. “Get in close,” he yelled over the din, “and I'll see about keeping him on his toes!”

Parker sprinted back behind the various control panels that were located around the room, and maneuvered his way around its edge to get in closer to Kellogg. Looking down the sights of his laser rifle, he fired into the man’s only identifying characteristic at the time— the Stealth Boy distortion. And the distortion cried out and fired back. The mask of invisibility wore off as Parker pressed inward, however, and with one particularly firm final bash from Parker’s rifle, Kellogg lay still.

In his fury, Parker rested the rifle’s muzzle against the dead man’s right pectoral and began to empty the rest of the clip. Blood both spilled out from this wound and cauterized itself around the entry and exit points as the impossibly searing laser shots dug through Kellogg’s body.

And, for a long moment, Parker felt and heard nothing. All grew numb in favor of avenging his child. Pull the trigger, realign, rinse and repeat.

Then his gun was knocked from his shaking hands, and Nick’s own were dragging him back, shaking him by the shoulders. “Parker! He's dead! It’s… it’s done, you can  _ stop _ !”

Another long moment was needed for Parker to register what had just happened. He had ended Kellogg’s reign of terror, of course, and that much was absolutely necessary. But he would never allow himself to torture the bodies of those he was required to kill.

Was this wasteland causing him to lose himself this quickly?

His jaw gritted, and his eyes stung with tears he didn’t know had come as the world came back into focus. When Nick saw this happen, he slowly let go of Parker and spoke softly. “I can’t even imagine what’s going through your head right now. You need a minute?”

Parker swiped at his eyes with the heel of one hand. “Yeah. Maybe… maybe more than one.”

“I’ve got your gun while you take a breather. Just gonna check out this terminal over here, see if there's any damning evidence as to where your son went. Take your time, Parker.” With one last searching look at his human companion, Nick turned and headed over to sit at the terminal in question. He started typing away immediately, and the clacking sound gave Parker something to focus on aside from the ringing in his ears and the heavy silence outside them.

He maneuvered away from Kellogg’s body as quickly as possible; then, when his legs wanted to cooperate, he sat down in a chair near the doorway in which they had entered this inner sanctum. Parker’s face then came to rest in his hands, and, sure that he was hidden from any prying eyes, he allowed himself to sob quietly for a few minutes. It was an expression of not only his frustration, but also a want for this to be only a bad dream— because in dreams, it’s rarer for you to be able to control your actions. And he truly wished that he didn’t have to do what he just did.

 

———

 

When Parker had finished with what he would later only call ‘feeling sorry for himself’, he was at Nick’s side, face redder and puffier than he would have liked. Yet, he was calmer by degree and quietly determined, and he peered over the detective’s shoulder. “What have we here, then?”

Unquestioning, Nick gestured to the contents on screen. “I found the controls for the external doors, some maintenance logs, and… something that Kellogg wrote himself. Didn’t open it yet, though; figured you might want to be the first to read it,” With that, he rose from the chair, stepped out of it, and offered it to Parker. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Parker said to him with a small smile, and sat down. With just a press of a button, he had Kellogg’s access log entry open. It detailed the fact that “the boy, Shaun” had already been delivered to the Institute— what both Nick and Parker had feared the most out of all of this. Kellogg had apparently already been paid for this act, and he had been moving on to the acquisition of a “renegade”. The last of it mentioned the conversion of Fort Hagen into a base, and the relatively short entry ended there.

Parker took a moment to re-read this particular entry. After the third reading, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, brow furrowed. There was no more time to waste on tears, but that didn’t mean he couldn't be utterly lost. What was he supposed to do now?

“So, Kellogg wasn't giving us any bull,” Nick remarked, and took brief control of the terminal when Parker leaned away from it to open the security doors. “Your son really is on the inside. But even I don't know where the Institute is, and they  _ built _ me.”

“There has to be a way, Nick.” Parker leaned his head back to look at the synth, eyes almost pleading.

Nick could do little more than meet that gaze, hesitant, then glance away with a sigh. “We’re in the weeds here. Time to take a step back, bring in some fresh eyes. Only person I know willing to snoop up the Institute’s tail feathers is Piper, the reporter in Diamond City. I say we head her way, talk this through.”

“How could Piper help us?”

“Trust me, that dame knows a lot more than she lets on. And she lets on a lot. If I know her, she's done her homework. And we need someone to talk this through with.”

“Diamond City it is, then.” Parker grunted as he got up from the chair in front of the terminal; the stings from laser rifle burns were just now getting to him. (He was almost glad the residual assault of pain didn’t add to the emotional avalanche that occurred just minutes ago.)

“Hey, chin up,” Nick encouraged, and patted Parker gingerly on the back. “I know the night just got darker, but it won’t last forever. Even when it feels this long.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“In my experience? I usually am."


	7. acclimatization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whoo, this one's a doozy.
> 
> it begins.

Nick offered his bed at the agency to Parker when they entered Diamond City-- just for the night, as it was already almost eight in the evening. The latter politely declined, saying that Nick might need it for this or that; what if he ran out of places to put case files while organizing them? When that was refuted, he admitted that he simply felt that he would be intruding if that were the case. Nick shrugged and, with a grin, said he “might miss out on the Commonwealth Mutfruit pancakes that Ellie makes now and again”.

They parted for what they thought would be the last time of the night at the door of the Dugout Inn. The detective shook Parker’s hand and reassured him that the offer was open for as long as he would need it. If there was trouble, all Parker would have to do would be to come knocking.

With that, Parker turned to head inside. He paid ten caps to a quiet-spoken man named Yafim in order to rent out room number two; they chatted briefly, as Yafim had yet to see him around town, before the tired guest shuffled off to his room. The bed was surprisingly clean in comparison to others that Parker had seen in his brief time in the Commonwealth, and was more inviting than a late Christmas dinner. Meticulously, his armor pieces (save for the one on his chest, which remained in place due to what he would later realize to be lingering paranoia) were removed and stored in the trunk provided next to his bed.

Then, following that: he didn’t quite flop, but he didn’t exactly lay himself down gingerly on the bed, either. No, his next action was somewhere in between. He was tired enough that the noise level of his not-quite-cooked-noodle maneuver and its effects on other Dugout Inn patrons did not matter. Tired men tell no tales, nor do they give any cares. As such, Parker passed out just like that, cheek smushed against the bed just below the pillow that he had missed, and an arm covering his face in a sleepy attempt to replace it.

For the three hours that he did sleep, he did not dream at all.

Then he was shocked awake by the sound of a big band starting up. When his senses came into focus, he realized that he had not been stolen away and shoved into the center of an orchestra-- as went his initial, half-asleep thought-- but still relatively safe in the room he had fallen asleep in. The orchestra he had heard was coming from the jukebox in the lobby of the Dugout Inn; strains of Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘Undecided’ seemed to filter brightly through the walls.

Of course, there wasn’t going to be a room service phone to call in this disturbance with-- he didn’t expect and hadn’t seen one as he had in most hotels in his life. So it seemed as though it was time to investigate. (But first, of course, he trudged down the hall and washed his face of drool at a broken sink. No need to show that off to the world, though they’ve all likely seen much worse.)

A bit fresher after washing up, Parker shuffled out into the inn’s foyer only to find that perhaps every other resident of Diamond City had gathered there. The crowd was thick, boisterous, and… dancing in the ‘pre-war’ swing-dance style that had apparently survived over the period of time that encompassed Parker’s cryostasis.

“What’s going on?” Parker approached Yefim, who was still in roughly the same place, and tried to speak over the noise. “Who started this?”

“Ahh, my brother, Vadim, is a happy drunk,” Yefim said at a level that, while much louder than his earlier volume, seemed roughly normal to him. “He organizes spontaneous events like this every other month or so. You are a lucky visitor to witness it… or an unlucky one. Whichever you choose. It looks like the latter, by the way your hair is... bed-headed.”

Parker sighed as Yefim laughed quietly at his own little joke, and slicked his hair back, fiddled with a stray cowlick until it finally lay flat. He scanned the room as he did; his eyes flicked from a tranquil face sitting at the bar with a drink that was far from a nightcap, to an elated face dancing their heart out (even if they were a bit uncoordinated), to a sleeping face somehow able to sleep in the corner of the room furthest from Parker, to… a broken face. Not broken in the emotional context, of course, like the others he’d analyzed; just a bit rough and metallic. One that could only belong to the man who had suggested this place to him.

A shake of his head was required to realize that he dove into his thoughts while staring Nick Valentine dead in the eye, and that that same man was staring back, concerned. The two seemed to shoulder and bump their way through the crowd towards one another inquiringly. “Parker, I didn’t take you for the nightlife type,” Nick greeted once each man was in earshot of the other. “Especially after the events of the past few days.”

“I’m not; I just got a rude awakening.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Ella Fitzgerald makes me want to yawn and take a power nap, either. I  _ would _ say that she makes me want to get up and dance, but…”

“...’But’ what?”

“I got two left feet, so to speak.”

Parker glanced down at said feet with a grin. “Unless you’ve got some very weird shoes on, I don’t see any basis behind that excuse.”

“No, it’s--”

“I’m well aware that it’s an expression, Nick. You can track down murderers and crime bosses, but you can’t track your own feet?”

“I ain’t got an ounce of rhythm in me.”

Parker was interrupted in his next response by a pair of dance partners bumping gently into him. He apologized profusely for standing in their space and guided Nick to the edge of the room. “Look-- you can tap at least one of those ‘two left feet’, right?”

“...Yes?”

“And you can make little, repetitive motions, right?”

“Yeah, I… see what you’re getting at here, and I’m not sure if I like it.”

“Come on, you will. Just work with me here. Now, tap your foot as I’m tapping my fingertips together.”

With that, a strange metronome-like practice began, with Nick tapping his foot to the beat that Parker had created. It seemed that the honest and kind detective was a filthy liar in one respect: He made few to no errors. The ones that he did make seemed almost intentional. And when Parker looked up to speak to someone that passed by, asking for directions to the bathroom, he could have sworn that he saw Nick bobbing his head ever so slightly to the rhythm of the next song (Jerry Lee Lewis’ ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin On’) out of the corner of his eye.

Once that little interruption was over, Parker turned back to Nick. “So you’ve got the rhythm part down. Obviously. Why the cover story?”

“These limbs don’t work like they used to, Parker, and making a fool of myself isn’t my favorite pastime.”

“Nick. You’ve long since set up shop in town. You’re backlogged with cases that you took on voluntarily-- I’ve seen all of that just at a glance-- and you’ve probably solved countless others that Diamond City’s residents are grateful for. I don’t think they’re going to exile you for a fumble on a dance floor that isn’t even a real dance floor to begin with.”

The detective looked as though he wanted to argue that, a finger raised and his mouth slightly open, but after a pause he simply sighed. “Fine. I’ll bite, for a little while. Just show me what you want me to do, and prepare to have your toes stepped on.”

Parker practically beamed at that, and offered his right hand. “I’ll lead, in that case. We can take this nice and slow.”

Nick was cautious to rest his metal hand in Parker’s, glancing back and forth from it to the man’s face to gauge his approval. (That broad, smug grin never left, however, meaning that its joints and parts didn’t pinch or hurt as he had feared.) His other hand was guided by Parker to come to rest on his left shoulder, and Parker’s own hand moved to rest on Nick’s upper back.

With the subtle awkwardness of getting into close quarters taken care of, then came the task of footwork. Parker described the steps of the dance as they moved rather stiffly, at first; again, Nick’s eyes were glued to his feet, but they occasionally drifted back up to Parker’s face for politeness’ sake as they spoke and his continued approval. They were at the edge of the crowd, and, as such, had no reason to rush.

On went this halting dance routine until Nick began to get more comfortable; with this, its fluidity improved. At one point, he even paused to shrug off his trenchcoat and drape it over a nearby chair. “The coat’s too restrictive for this sort of thing, all tied up and buttoned like it was.” he muttered on his return, and took up his stance with Parker again.

“You sure you’re not just afraid of having a fancy cape?”

“Didn’t you just insinuate that I was some sort of hero?”

“Exactly. Why not keep it on, keep yourself known?”

“For one thing, it’s unreasonably warm in here. Probably because of all the body heat. For another, the fedora is unique enough a piece to pick me out of a crowd.”

Gingerly, Parker guided Nick into a ‘sendout’, wherein they were only connected by the hands that held onto one another. When he roped his apparent partner (a very  _ surprised _ one) back in, he’d already been chuckling. “Fair points.”

Nick, after a handful of beats to recover from that movement, grinned as well. “What? No more arguments from you?”

“Nah. I say we focus on the music for now. Let me show you a few more little things.”

After a bit more practice, the two men were finally able to get up to speed with the current song— Johnny Mercer’s ‘Personality’. Though toes were occasionally stepped on, they were able to laugh it off and continue as they were. This surprised Parker; he had thought that Nick might politely ask to call it quits after the second or third time.

But it was by no means an unpleasant surprise.

Miscellaneous spins and twirls were executed with steadily decreasing resistance. At the end of ‘Personality’, Parker even faked Nick out as if he was going to dip the poor synth. (When they went to release each other, this earned him a punch to the shoulder; but the smirk never left.)

Though Parker and Nick meant to part for the night after that incident, it would seem societal convention intended to keep them trapped together one last time for two reasons. One: they had danced their way into the center of a crowd not yet ready to disperse; and, two: the Ink Spots’ ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’ began to play following a short pause after ‘Personality’. It was, of course, a slower song. One that no one would be apt to rush around to.

“Ah,” Nick remarked, “I think I can handle this particular dance. You care if I lead?”

Parker blinked, again surprised, then nodded his assent. With that, their stance shifted so that Nick could take up the lead, and in this fashion they swayed with the rest of the crowd. (Those who were pairs in the first place, anyway.)

Initially, they couldn't find much of anything to talk about, as a sort of unspoken, situational tension made itself known; and so their gazes drifted from each other, to the walls behind one another, to virtually anything else in the room until Nick broke the silence. “Hey. Lemme ask you something.”

“Trust me, you're doing everything just fine. No need for any dance critique that I haven't already given.”

“No, not about this, just— hm. I wanted to ask if something was wrong— and I know right now likely isn't the best time to get an accurate judgement, as you're obviously having the time of your life roping me into this.”

“You haven’t sounded like you've been complaining.”

“Because, honestly? I'm not. It’s just, with everything that’s happened with  _ you _ , your family. It’s a whole hell of a lot to process. I wanna make sure you're holding up alright.”

Parker searched Nick’s face with a gaze that seemed confused, for a moment. Then, he heaved a sigh. “I… don’t know, Nick. I might be having fun right now, but at the end of the day, my family’s in tatters, and I've been dropped into this place where everything’s trying to kill me. Hell, I’ve already almost died once just by being myself. You tell me.”

Nick’s smile turned sad and empathetic. “Well, I'd expect you’d feel lost, scared, and mad as hell. I sure did. Took me a long damn time to get a feel for this place.” He made a brief, reserved sweeping gesture. “Thank goodness I found Diamond City. I mean, it’s got its flaws, sure, but it beats the hell out of anywhere else in the Commonwealth. ‘Course, when I took up here back when, people were just as scared of the Institute as they are now… maybe more.

“The massacre of the CPG was still pretty fresh in people’s minds at that point, and folks were still losing sleep over the Broken Mask. Plenty of people assumed I was just a saboteur moving in to melt down the reactor or poison the drinking water. ‘Course, at the time, they couldn't exactly turn me away.”

Parker tilted his head, curious. “The ‘Broken Mask’?”

“This happened long before I’d moved to town, but apparently, some gentleman-type shows up in Diamond City, heads down to Power Noodles. Guess he didn’t like the food, because he pulled his pistol and opened fire on the folks enjoying theirs. When security finally put enough holes in him to drop him, they say he was full of servos and sprockets, just like yours truly. Seems he malfunctioned, went berserk. It was the first time people realized that Synths had stopped looking like me and started looking like them. Considering what these folks went through, I felt real lucky they'd let me through the gate at all.”

“And I'm assuming the massacre of the ‘CPG’ had a similar premise? An innocent-looking synth, right?”

“Mm. Another reason for them to be wary of me. The CPG was the Commonwealth Provisional Government. Years back, a group of settlements tried to get together and form a coalition. Every settlement with even a hint of clout sent representatives to try and hash out an agreement. Only, the Institute sent a representative of their own: a Synth. The man killed every person at the talks, and the Commonwealth Provisional Government was over before it even got off the ground. I took up in town not long after; and, again, I was real lucky they didn’t tell me to scram right then and there.”

“Why would you want to live among bigots like that? I mean, sure, they'd be right to be wary after all that happened to them, but they can't just turn away everyone that looks the same or was made the same way as someone who did something horrible.”

“Well, it’s just that, as you said— I couldn't really blame them, given the circumstances. But folks sure started turning the other cheek when I showed up with the mayor’s daughter.

“She was a gal of about fifteen, pride and joy of the mayor back then, man by the name of Henry Roberts. The young miss Roberts decided she’d run off with some caravan hand she’d,” and here, Nick paused to clear his throat, then continued, “ _ known  _ for an evening. Turns out the guy was part of a gang of kidnappers. I didn’t even know who I was rescuing, I just stumbled on a crying girl and four toughs.

“I took her home and the Mayor dubbed me a hero, offered me a place in town. Lots of folks protested, said I was a spy, but he wouldn't have it. Taking up in the city was… tricky, at first, but I never tried to hide what I was and people seemed to warm to that.”

“So let me get this straight,” Parker interjected when Nick paused briefly. “You took down four guys by yourself?”

Nick grinned and shook his head. “Didn’t have to. Back then, synths were even more of an unknown quantity than they are today. I told them I was rigged to explode and started going, ‘beep, beep, beep’. Hardest part of  _ that  _ rescue was keeping from laughing as they climbed over each other to get away.”

Parker could no longer contain his laughter in a polite fashion and cackled as soon as Nick had reached the second ‘beep’. “I can’t believe that that  _ worked _ ! That’s something that you’d only see seriously in some cheesy science-fiction movie.”

Even Nick chuckled; it seemed that Parker’s laughter was more infectious than he’d realized. “Well, to be fair, we are living that sort of reality now. Body snatchers, flying machines,  _ synthetic men _ .”

“I can’t argue with that logic. Was it hard, settling in, from there?”

“They sure didn’t make it  _ easy _ . I started off doing the jobs no one else wanted. I got more banged up being Diamond City’s handyman than I ever did living out in the ruins. But I guess folks never forgot I rescued the Mayor’s daughter, so they started coming to me when people went missing. Wife runs off with a new paramour and takes the rent money with her? ‘Talk to the Synth.’ An upset father decides moving him and the kids to Goodneighbor in the dead of night’s not the worst damn idea since the bomb? ‘Go get Nick.’

“After a while, the jobs got so backed up, they didn’t even ask me to do the handyman stuff anymore. Hell, I was so happy to do it, it was months before I started charging anyone. I never stopped being Nick the Synth, but it was Nick the detective folks came to see. It was about then that things… well, things finally started feeling normal.

“It took me a long time to realize that home is where you make it. And, hey, with some time and effort, this place can be home for you, too. It’s a long story, but… I hope it helps.”

It was around the time that Nick finished his recollection of his earlier life in Diamond City that ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’ had also ended. And, as such, a very drunk Vadim staggered over to the jukebox and shut it off, asked for everyone to leave if they had no intention of staying at the Dugout. Parker and Nick seemed to remain in place as the crowd around them ebbed out either into the streets of Diamond City or into the hallways containing the Dugout Inn’s various rooms. Parker found himself at a loss for words, for a short moment, as he separated himself from Nick. “I… Wow. That’s one hell of a motivational thinkpiece.”

“I've been told I'm decent with those. Didn’t you hear the bit where I almost blew up in those brutes’ faces?”

Parker huffed a laugh, then yawned as the night began to catch up to him. “How could I have missed it? Just… thanks, Nick. For sharing, and for taking this time off with me, I guess. It’s all gonna help a lot in times to come.”

“You’re more than welcome; and thank  _ you _ for the impromptu dance lesson. Hope this doesn’t become a regular thing, otherwise you might have some real bruised toes.” (The way Nick’s shoulders rose slightly with amusement towards the end of that thought indicated that he wouldn't genuinely mind.)

“Heh. So be it, then, if I get to hear more of your antics. But… it’d be better if we saved them for later.”

“Of course. You’re gonna need your rest for when we meet up with Piper tomorrow. Trust me.”

“I've trusted you enough to let you dance me around the ‘ballroom’ for an evening. I think I can handle that.”

Nick’s grin reached the corners of his eyes, and Parker could almost see a twinkle of sorts reflected in them. “Go get some sleep, already, and stop stalling with your kind words.”

“Fine, fine. Might run out of them, if you’re not careful. I might start cussing at you instead.”

“ _ Parker _ .”

“Alright, geez,” Parker conceded, and he backed away with his hands up in a placating fashion— but his smile was just as broad as Nick’s. “Goodnight, Nick.”

“Goodnight, Parker,” Nick repeated with a tip of his hat. “Rest easy.”

“Thanks. I’ll… try my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”


	8. information

Parker slept quite well that night, breaking his recent streak of nights of turmoil-filled naps. Whether it was the physical activity of the past night, the apparent joy of dancing (and getting to teach the act to someone else), or the company he’d had, he didn’t know; all he knew was that he was up by 9:00 AM, sharp, and ready to check out of the Dugout Inn. He re-armored himself, said his goodbyes to Vadim and Yefim, and stepped into the mid-morning that was gracing Diamond City.

Rather than heading out and foraging for Sugar Bombs, or some Wasteland equivalent of breakfast, he took the opportunity to stop by the Power Noodles establishment that Nick had mentioned. He wasn’t put off from visiting whatsoever by the detective’s mention of a terroristic act that had occurred there in the past; and it was apparent that this was justifiably so, as he received no odd looks from patrons a few tables over, nor from the passing citizens of the settlement. A particularly chef-like Securitron came to greet him at his seat, but spoke in a language he wasn’t quite familiar with-- Japanese. “Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

The man in the Vault suit blinked, and attempted to process this. That one year in college that he’d tried to study foreign languages was not coming in handy right now. “Uh, come again?”

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

“Is... that the only phrase you know?”

“Yes, it is,” answered a woman as she slid onto the stool next to Parker. “Just say ‘yes’ and he’ll serve you for 20 caps.”

“Uh,” Parker took a moment to think on the price, but he ultimately fished out the amount and laid those bottlecaps out on the countertop. “Yes.” In response, the robot extended his hand and slid the caps back in toward himself in a couple of groups, then doled out a bowl of hot, fresh noodles and pushed that over to Parker. “Thanks.” he said in return, and watched as another exchange occurred between the unnamed patron and the bot before he dug into his own helping. The noodles were cooked just right; they didn’t stick together between his chopsticks or in his mouth, and they tasted savory enough with just the right hint of sweetness to justify their being a breakfast food.

When Parker left Power Noodles, he left a tip of seven caps out on the counter for the robot-- for a job well done, of course. Then, it was off to Valentine’s office to discuss things with Piper, a woman he’d only met briefly while trying to get into Diamond City. Noting her lack of fear to get into anyone’s business, he could see why Nick suggested that they speak with her; but, in the same vein, he saw why he suggested that he get a good night’s rest before the discussion itself.

Pressing through the door of the detective agency, it was evident to Parker that the little meeting had started without him. He supposed that that was what he got for stopping to eat. (But, like that one commercial that used to play now and again-- he wasn’t the same person when he was hungry, as corny as that sounded.) Piper and Nick were already engaged in conversation, and the former inquired to Nick, “C’mon, Nicky, I’m just askin’ for your opinion. It’d be a great quote.”

“He’s my client, Piper,” Nick replied, and one of his eyebrows raised. “Why don’t you learn not to snoop on a man’s private affairs?”

Piper looked as though she was about to refute that when she caught Parker out of the corner of her eye, and the grin that appeared on her face was not the slightest bit embarrassed. “Well, well. Speak of the devil.”

“You’re here,” Nick remarked, and aimed a less knowing smile at Parker. “What took you so long?”

“Had to make a pit-stop. You didn’t say food was off-limits before this talk.”

“Heh. So I didn’t. We’ve actually only been here for just a handful of minutes, discussing...  _ specific matters _ .”

Piper wrinkled her nose up at Nick jokingly. “I just want to do this particular story justice, is all.”

“So you two were talking about me? Piper, if you wanted to do that interview sooner, you could have just asked.”

“Nah, I’m leaving the timing up to you. I can already tell you’ve got a lot on your plate, especially from some of what Nick was telling me before you got here,” Piper paused, and her expression grew more serious. “You killed the man who took your kid?”

After a beat, Parker sighed. “Yeah. He wasn’t the ‘surrender and talk’ type, otherwise I wouldn’t have resorted to those kinds of measures.”

“Hey, at least he’s not gonna be hurting anyone else,” Nick reminded Parker. “But...the whole Institute thing that we gleaned off the terminal in that office of his. I’m sorry, friend. Truly. That makes things considerably more complicated.”

“He ain’t kidding, Blue. Heck, Nick’s a synth, and even he doesn’t know how to get in.”

Parker would inquire about ‘Blue’ at a later moment. “So you really don’t know anything, Nick? Mister ‘Metal for Hands’ doesn’t know how to get back to the factory?”

“No-- I skipped that part of the orientation while they were busy pulling me apart and putting me back together again. Just… look… the sad thing is, I have no idea. Not a clue.”

Piper huffed a laugh. “I’ve been investigating these creeps for over a year now. ‘The Commonwealth’s boogeyman.’ Feared and hated by everyone. Sometimes they snatch people in the middle of the night, and sometimes they leave old synths behind to remind us that they’re out there. But to this day, there’s one thing no one really knows…”

Nick finished her sentence, “Where the Institute actually is-- or how to get in.”

“Exactly,” Piper agreed. “But there’s one person who had to know, right? The guy who just handed them Shaun.”

“We all know well that he’s dead, Piper. I pulled the trigger on him. We  _ can _ talk to him if you feel like holding a seance in here.”

“A literal dead end.” Nick brought his hand up so that his chin was resting in the crook between his thumb and index finger, thoughtful.

“See, this would be a great ending if we didn’t still have the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth to solve,” Piper sighed and rubbed at her face. “‘Least with that laser rifle you’re packing, Kellogg’s brains  _ probably  _ didn’t get blown out and everywhere in that room. Though I’ve seen some shit to tell me otherwise.”

Nick froze for a moment, then brought his face up to glance between the two other individuals in the room. “‘Gets his brains blown out’... huh. His brains. You know, we may not need the man at all.”

Now it was Piper’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re talkin’ crazy here, Nick. Got a fault in the ol’ subroutines?”

“Look, there’s a place in Goodneighbor called the Memory Den. Relive the past moments in your mind as clear as the day they happened. If anyone could get a dead brain to sing, it’d be Doctor Amari, the mind behind the memories.”

Parker’s eyes widened, and he piped up again. “I realize that technology’s advanced a hell of a lot even while I was on ice, Nick, but that seems… a little out there.”

“I’m a synth, Parker, I  _ am  _ a little out there. Just stay with me on this,” Valentine said, and drew himself back into his former ‘thinking’ position. “Let’s see… I guess we’re gonna need a piece of Kellogg’s brain. Enough gray matter to bring to Amari and find out if this is going to work…”

Piper’s quizzical expression quickly turned to shock, and she recoiled almost dramatically from the synth detective. “Jesus, Nick, gross!  _ Seriously _ ?”

“I know it’s grisly, but what choice do we have? We got no leads. Nothing. That old merc’s brain just might have all the secrets we need to know.”

“Actually, if we wanna save ourselves from the grisly part, I might already have something,” Parker interjected, and offered the ‘something’ to Nick for inspection. It was, indeed, a piece of the grey matter of which they were previously speaking-- though it was still quite pink. Unlike most ordinary segments of the brain, however, this one had wires and widgets attached to and seemingly running through it. “Kellogg had this…  _ thing _ attached to his head.”

“Cybernetics, huh?” Nick took up the piece gingerly in his more human-looking hand, inspected it closely. “We may have just won the lottery.”

Piper still looked repulsed by the piece, and kept her relative distance as she spoke. “Whether we’re riding this crazy brain-train or not, we can’t all go running across the Commonwealth. So, who’s coming with you, Parker?”

Nick offered the piece back to his client and added, “I have to go to the Memory Den either way, if I’m gonna introduce you to Amari; but if you wanna head over there together, just say so.”

Put on a pedestal all of the sudden, Parker paused to consider his options. He wanted to keep Piper in the loop, as she had already provided valuable input towards getting his son back; but, at the same time, he felt like he still owed Nick for quite a few things at this point, and he certainly didn’t want him travelling the wastes alone after his own brush with death. “I’ll come with you, Nick, but-- Piper, just keep me posted on your findings from here on out, okay?”

“Trust me, at this point, you’ll be the first to know. Thanks for tagging me in in the first place.” With a wave and another vaguely impish grin, Piper made her exit.

And then the two men faced each other. “Well,” Nick started, and shrugged his shoulders, “should we get a move on? I’m no doctor, I don’t know exactly how long that piece of Kellogg is gonna hold up outside his head-- but I’m guessing it’s not long.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the company, and all the effort, Nick,” Parker said with a smile. “I was expecting to have to trudge through these ‘weeds’ myself from the start.”

“This has been one of the most interesting cases I’ve worked on in a while; and you’re not a bad man, either, which altogether makes this the part of the job that I love the most. So you’re welcome. And don’t worry-- we’re gonna get your boy back. Just a few more steps.”


	9. recollection

          The route that Nick and Parker took to Goodneighbor was laden with super mutants, feral ghouls, and raiders, among other dangers. It was no wonder that, when Parker entered Goodneighbor, he let out a  _ very _ long sigh upon holstering his weapon. “Nick, what happened to taking the quieter back roads to Goodneighbor?”

          “Those  _ were  _ the quieter back roads that I knew, Parker. It just seems that they're not so quiet anymore.” Nick followed Parker’s lead in stashing his gun in its holster beneath his coat, then grumbled at a blood splatter he’d just noted on his tie. They both glanced up, however, when a third man in a leather jacket stepped forward.

“Hold up there, pal,” he said to Parker, brushing Nick off as someone who had experienced this spiel before. “First time in Goodneighbor? Can’t go walkin’ around without insurance.”

“Insurance,” Parker repeated, and tilted his head to one side. “I’m listening.”

“That’s right-- insurance. Personal protection, like. You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or ‘accidents’ start happenin’ to ya. Big, bloody ‘accidents’.”

          Parker, immediately alarmed, moved his hand to hover over his gun, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Nick do the same. The detective in question stepped forward, too, and spoke up, “I don’t think that’s the best way to resolve this, pal.”

“Well, well, well. It’s the detective,” the mercenary-type taunted. “Tracking down another wayward husband to his mistress?”

“Why? Someone stand you up?”

“You tryin’ that, whaddaya call it? Evasive language, on me? Ah, I see what’s goin’ on here. You’re Valentine’s new dick-in-training.” The man gestured vaguely to Parker with one hand, and dug out his lighter to light up a cigarette with another.

Parker huffed a laugh. “We’re hiring, but I don’t think you’d… measure up.”

“Enough fuckin’ talk, man. Hand over everything you’ve got, or those smartass brains of yours are gonna be on the door you just walked through.”

“Whoa, whoa, time out,” rasped a voice from the shadows of the street behind Parker’s potential assailant. The owner of the voice, dressed in a red frock coat and tricorn hat, stepped forward into the light and addressed him properly. “Nick Valentine makes a rare visit to town, and you’re hassling his friend here with that extortion crap?"

“What d’you care?” This newcomer ain’t one of us,” the ‘insurance’ vendor growled.

“No love for your mayor, Finn? I said, let ‘em go.”

“You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us,” the apparent Finn pointed and accused. “One day, there’ll be a new mayor.”

Hancock closed the distance between himself and Finn, arms spread and walk casual as he did. “Come on, man, this is me we’re talkin’ about. Lemme tell you something,” With that, he took a final step forward to a rest a hand on Finn’s shoulder, as if actually about to explain a concept; then, in a flash, a knife was pulled from beneath Hancock’s trenchcoat, and he stabbed Finn in the chest twice, then shoved him to the ground. “Now why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breakin’ my heart over here.” Finn only grunted in response, then fell silent. With that incident…  _ taken care of _ , that grin of Hancock’s was now aimed up at Parker. “You all right, brother?”

Parker blinked a few times, still going over what just happened-- without the entire group of people around breaking into a fight, no less. “Yeah, I… I’m fine. Thanks for taking care of him.”

“Good. Now don’t let this incident taint your view of our little community. Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome.”

“Of the people, for the people? Oh, brother…”

“Heheheh. I can tell I’m gonna like you already. Just consider this town your home away from home… so long as you remember who’s in charge.” With that, Hancock made his exit by heading back into what Parker recognized as the Old State House.

If this was a taste of what Goodneighbor was like, Parker almost didn’t want to head for the Memory Den. But there were things far more important than personal preference to be taken care of here.

 

\--------

 

The Memory Den was once a theatre, and was now just as Nick had called it-- some sort of memory-retrieval facility. This was evident by the equipment in the strange pods that were on either side of the curtain-lined main room that followed a long hallway. (A man with a clean-shaven head and dark sunglasses was already occupying the one closest to them and to their right; Parker assumed that he was unconscious, undergoing this memory revival process.) Further towards the back of that room lay a well-dressed woman on a couch meant for her sort of lounging. She seemed to recognize Nick, and smiled broadly when their eyes met. “Well, well, Mr. Valentine. I thought you’d forgotten about little ol’ me.”

Nick returned the grin in full force, and pushed the brim of his hat back just a tad to emphasize the fact that he was paying attention. “May have walked out of the Den, Irma, but I’d never walk out on you.”

“Hmmmm…” Irma toyed with the feathery hem of her outfit for a moment, acting as if Nick had vanished, then cut her eyes up at him coyly. “Amari’s downstairs, you big flirt.”

Nick chuckled and waved his thanks as he led the way to that area. (Parker, naturally, waved as well-- just because it felt like the right thing to do. That earned him a wink and a little wave of his own from Irma, and he felt his cheeks grow warm.  _ Oh _ .)

“Doctor Amari?” Nick called as he and Parker stepped out of the dirty stairway and into the white-tiled room of said doctor’s laboratory.

“Yes?” Amari called over her shoulder. She finished typing up a report from her last memory retrieval, then turned to her visitors. “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

“We, uh,” Parker started; then, after a glance to Nick to make sure he wasn’t the one who wanted to explain, and his approval, he continued, “We need your help, doctor. I need the memories from a man named Kellogg, but he’s dead.”

“I know it’s asking for a miracle, Amari, but you’ve done the impossible before.” Nick added, and steepled his fingers.

Amari’s brow shot up into her hairline. “Are you two mad!? Putting aside the fact that you’re asking me to defile a corpse, you do realize that the memory simulators require intact,  _ living _ brains to function?”

“Please,” Parker almost begged, “Nick told me you’re the only one who could make this work.”

“This dead brain had knowledge of the Institute, Amari. The biggest scientific secret of the Commonwealth. You need this, and so do we.”

Defeated by logic that would clearly prove profitable for all parties present, and many more in the future, Amari heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll take a look, but no guarantees. Do you… have it with you?”

From a vial in Parker’s back pocket, the piece of Kellogg’s brain, covered in preserving fluid looted from a lab and cybernetic implants, was offered to Amari. “Here’s… what I could find.”

Amari took the segment and brought it close to her face in order to examine it. “What’s this? This isn’t a brain! This is...wait… That’s the hippocampus! And this thing attached to it-- a neural interface…?”

If Nick could have paled just then, he would have; but the tone of his voice expressed all of the reluctance that bodily functions could not. “Those circuits look awfully familiar…”

“I’m not surprised,” Amari said, lowering the piece and looking to Nick. “From what I’ve seen, all Institute technology has a similar architecture.”

“Nick’s an older model synth, though,” Parker interjected. “Do you think he’d be… compatible?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. If we’re lucky, it should hook right in,” Amari paused here to frown, concerned. “But even if this works, Mister Valentine would be taking on a tremendous amount of risk. We’re talking about  _ wiring _ something to his  _ brain _ .”

“Don’t worry about me, Amari,” Nick dismissed the thought, and nodded to Parker. “Let’s do it.”

“I appreciate this, Nick.” Parker smiled, concerned, but unwilling to waste any more time arguing.

“You can thank me when you’ve found your son, alright? Let’s do this.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Mister Valentine, just sit down.” Amari pulled a rolling chair out from underneath a nearby desk and offered it to Nick.

The synth sat down and removed his hat with no further hesitation, tossed it to Parker. “If I start cackling like an old, grizzled mercenary, pull me out, okay?”

Parker chuckled despite the serious nature of this situation and pulled up a chair of his own from across the room, rested his chin in the palm of one hand propped up by his elbow on his knee to spectate. Amari retrieved a tray of tools and quite literally opened Nick up at the back of his head. This delicate process took but a moment, but the far more volatile insertion of the implant lasted about ten minutes.

“Let’s see here…” Amari piped up when things were hooked up and supposed to be in working order. “I need you to keep talking to me, Mister Valentine. Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire.”

Nick gritted his teeth, curled his fingers into the coattails at his sides. “There’s a lot of-- flashes, static… I can’t make any sense of it, doc.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Amari pulled away with her tools, but left the implant as it was. “The mnemonic impressions are encoded. It appears the Institute has one last failsafe-- there’s a lock on the memories in the implant.”

Doubly concerned at the possibility of another roadblock and his friend’s sudden tensing up, Parker’s brows knit together. “Is Nick gonna be okay?”

“Yes, the connections appear to be stable. Hopefully, it’ll be as simple as unplugging the implant once we’re done. But that doesn’t get around the current problem. The memory encryption here is too strong for a single mind, but… What if we used two?” Amari’s brows raised again, more in a moment of epiphany than surprise, and she snapped her fingers. “We load both you and Mister Valentine into the memory loungers, run your cognitive functions in parallel. He’ll act as a host while your consciousness drives through whatever memories we can find.”

Parker’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “I’m happy to help. Or, my brain will be, at least. Any idea on what I’m gonna see in there?”

“I have no clue, but considering we only have a piece of the medial temporal lobe, and not the whole brain, I doubt it’ll be… cohesive.”

Noting that Nick still had his eyes squeezed shut and was about to tear through his coattails with how hard he grabbed at them, Parker took a moment to joke. “So… Nick and I are gonna share a mind. I’m not gonna see him in any compromising positions, am I?”

Nick tried to focus on those words instead of the vague flashes and tinnitus-esque static-- even if they were sarcastic and teasing ones. He cracked an eye open to ‘glare’ at Parker. “If a smart mouth was all it took to solve problems, Parker, we would have found your son by now.”

“Uh… No. You won’t have to worry about that,” Amari confirmed, and Parker could see her trying to suppress the foundations of a smile. “The only memories you’ll have access to are the ones in the implant.”

Parker huffed a chuckle of his own; then, he took a moment to breathe and find his center and seriousness again. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

“Just sit down over there, Mister... Parker, was it?-- and we can get started.”

Nick rose from the chair and took a deep breath of his own. The flashes seemed to clear, and, for the most part, the static did as well. “See you on the other side,” he said to Parker, and moved to sit in the memory lounger closest to the door. Parker did the same with the one on its left, and the glass casing and television display glided to a closed position above him. The screen, naturally, displayed ‘Please Stand By’ as Amari’s fingers clacked away at the keyboard, setting up for the procedure.

“Initiating brain-wave migration between the transplant and the host,” the doctor announced, and continued to type. A beat passed before she continued, “Mnemonic activity coming from the transplant! It’s degenerated, but it’s there! We’re going to load you into the strongest memories we can find. They might not be… stable… Just hold on!”

With that, Parker’s vision whited out for a spell, and the procedure began.

 

\------

 

There were an astonishing amount of more positive themes in Kellogg’s memories.

In reality, there were only two earlier ones that could even come close to being considered positive: Kellogg as a child, reading comics while his mother read a book of her own nearby, and Kellogg as a young adult in what Parker presumed to be the wasteland that consumed the southern United States, as well, with his wife and child. Still, the fact that there were more than zero positive, innocent memories (read: the ones that didn’t have to do with murder) surprised Parker.

Those that followed included the mention of the murder of the family he was just seen with, Kellogg hiring himself out as a mercenary, Kellogg confronting an earlier Institute worker, and… the murder of his wife, and the robbery of his child from her cold, dead hands. In that memory, Parker watched the blood slip from the hole in her forehead all over again, and whirled around to see himself pounding on the glass of his cryo pod to no avail. He watched Kellogg walk up to him-- while he watched from another set of eyes-- and call him ‘the backup’ to his face. And he watched as the Institute scientist and her ‘boss’ walked off into the shadows of the memory of Vault 111.

Amari apologized profusely for making Parker relive that horrible moment, and, after a beat, urged him to press on, unsure of what else to say. 

The last of Kellogg’s memories involved the asshole himself, cleaning a gun in a chair at the back of a place Parker recognized as the merc’s house, and… his son.

That was his son.

Shaun was older, no doubt, but he had his hair color, his nose… and his mother’s eyes…

There was no way that it couldn’t be him.

Parker felt himself exist superficially in that space, as he was able to move around and change perspectives, but he knew he could not do anything to affect Shaun or get his attention, nor wrap his hands around Kellogg’s scarred-up neck and wring that smug look off his face. As he told himself to calm down-- and as Amari’s voice rang out in his head and told him to keep his blood pressure down-- the door leading to Diamond City opened, and in stepped a man in a brown leather coat and dark aviator sunglasses. After some argument about how the mysterious stranger shouldn’t just bust in, and discussion of Institute matters (including mention of an Institute scientist named Virgil in the Glowing Sea, which Parker noted), the man in the coat asked that Shaun stand next to him and refrain from moving. After that… X6-88, as the mystery man called himself, and his son, after saying goodbye to Kellogg, vanished from sight in a flash.

“Teleportation… now it all makes sense,” Amari commented, and the room went dark, the memory now frozen. “Nobody’s found the entrance to the Institute because there  _ is _ no entrance.” There was a pause as Amari likely took notes, then she spoke anew, “Let me pull you out of there, as soon as you’re ready.”

The memory-travelling Parker kept hold of the potentially important facts he’d picked up on as his vision whited out once more. X6-88. Virgil.

Teleportation.

 

\-----

 

When Parker came to, it was with a faint headache, and a vague sickness in his stomach. The glass dome and television screen rose from over him and out of his face, respectfully, and he rose with it. Doctor Amari put her hands out to stop him from getting up too fast, but it was a bit late for that, as he staggered to his feet despite her attempts. “Slow movements, okay? I don’t know what kind of side effects the procedure might have had. No one’s ever… done this, before. How do you feel?”

Parker took another deep breath. Perhaps this, like Nick’s grin, would soon become a theme. “Barring a slight headache and stomachache-- which I think are already fading-- I’m okay, doctor. Thank you.”

“That’s good, but I want you to keep monitoring yourself. We have to be sure there’s no long-term damage. Are you… ready to talk about what happened in there?”

Wracking his brain for what might be most relevant, Parker settled on the scientist, Virgil, and his presence in the Glowing Sea as noted by X6-88. “There’s more than one person who knows about the Institute. Virgil, that scientist who escaped…”

Amari brought a hand to her chest. “I didn’t know Institute scientists could defect. This changes everything; it could answer all sorts of questions. Where did the memory say he was? The Glowing Sea? That can’t be right. No one would risk going there. Not even to hide.”

“But that could be why he’s there-- to make the Institute think twice about following him.”

“That must be it! He’s using the radiation in the Glowing Sea like a shield or a… cloak… a way to throw them off and be at an advantage. But if Virgil found a way to survive there, you’re going to have to do the same, if you’re going to follow him.”

“Any suggestions for fighting off that much radiation, doctor?”

“There are chemical compounds, of course-- Rad-X, Rad-Away. You’ll need as much as you can carry… maybe more. A sealed environment suit would be great, if you could find one. Or… maybe one of those suits of Power Armor? That would be perfect.”

“In that case, I’ve got some ideas. Don’t worry.”

“Good luck, and be safe. By the way-- I unplugged Mister Valentine first, removed the implant while you were waking up. He’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Thanks a million, doc. I owe you one.”

“A friend of Nick’s is a friend of mine. There are no debts in medicine.” Doctor Amari smiled and waved her goodbye, then returned to her terminal across the room to write a report on this successful, impromptu experiment.

As instructed, Parker headed upstairs into the Memory Den’s main room. When he got about halfway across, Nick smiled warmly and stood to meet him, still looking vaguely… sleepy. (Which, of course, for someone who doesn’t sleep, looked unusual.) When Parker took a couple more steps towards Nick, however, something about that smile changed. Nick seemed to ‘wake up’ more, and the smile stopped reaching his eyes. When he next spoke, his voice sounded less like the detective Parker had grown to appreciate and more like the grizzled mercenary whose guts he still hated. “Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head. Heh. I was right. Should’ve killed you when you were on ice.”

Parker’s brow furrowed, and his eyes blew wide. He had to keep himself from snarling when he finally had a mind to speak. “Kellogg? Is… that you?”

And, just like that, Nick was… Nick, again, tired eyes and all. “Whuh- What’re you talking about?”

“You… feeling alright, Nick?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You sounded like Kellogg, just then.”

Nick’s head jerked back a bit in his slight surprise. “Did I? Huh… Amari said there might be some ‘mnemonic impressions’ left over. Anyway-- I feel fine, so let’s get going.”

“Sounds like we have to head into the Glowing Sea. Any advice?”

“Hm. I’m a synth, so radiation isn’t much of an issue for me, but an old suit of Power Armor might just be the guardian angel you’re looking for. That, or you could buy up all the Rad-X and Rad-Away you can find from any chem dealer who’s got it in stock.”

“In that case, we’ll stop by Diamond City to restock, and a place I’ve got set up as a base of sorts-- where I left a suit of power armor after helping some friends. So, let’s get going, Nick.”

“Been one heck of a ride so far,” Nick said, and reached out to pat Parker’s shoulder. “Let’s see where it takes us next.”


	10. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and so that inevitable thought took root.

The trip to Red Rocket Truck Stop, a place that Parker knew from many of the tuneups of the car he once had, took about a day. It would have taken the roughly eight hours he’d calculated in his head were he not prone to speaking with people and helping out those in need along the way. (Not to mention stopping to investigate unusual structures or occurrences.) Nick, however, did not consider this to be a bad thing; and in all honesty, neither did Parker. If he died trying to get to his son, he might as well die happy and knowing that he’d made a change in this decaying world.

And, with company like Nick’s, that was getting easier to do.

Sentiments aside, upon their arrival at Red Rocket at around nine o’ clock in the evening, Parker encouraged Nick to make himself at home. There was a handful of furniture reconstructed from cloth, metal, and other scrap materials and parts for him to choose from; naturally, he chose the simplest of these in the form of an easy chair parked in the corner of the truck stop’s garage.

With the relative peace and quiet present, Parker was also able to take a minute for himself in the garage with Nick; for him, this break was used to take his armor off and stretch for the first time in a long time. Nick was surprised to hear what sounded like a whine come from the man as he did this; in fact, to Nick, Parker looked shocked at ‘his own’ sound. He glanced to Nick after a moment’s pause. “Was that you?”

Nick laughed. “No, I thought that was  _ you _ . I knew that people make strange noises when they stretch, but sounding like a whiny dog? That’s something else entirely.”

As if hearing his kind referenced in conversation, Dogmeat, the perpetrator of the sound in question, bounded around the corner. It seemed that he had, at first, not noticed that the windows to Red Rocket were wide open; so, the next logical solution was to whine at the nearest door until someone would let him in. He was tracking that someone’s scent, after all; he’d travelled a long way to get here, and he wanted to see them badly. But when he stood up to look in the window, he found that his snout did not push up against it, and he hauled himself inside to get to where he was now. And there he stood, the clever boy, wagging his tail and panting. He ‘boof’ed once, playfully.

“Aw, Dogmeat. What a good boy,” Nick rose from his spot to scratch the top of his head, and Dogmeat thumped his leg when he did so. The spot! He found  _ the spot _ ! “Guess this is where you’ve been all this time since you led us to Kellogg.”

“If we hadn’t come in from the southeast, I might’ve spotted him sooner,” Parker remarked, and joined Nick in patting Dogmeat, though he instead stroked over the canine’s back. “But, hey, I’m just glad he was determined enough to get to us.”

“I tried to tell ya about this guy’s nose. When he catches wind of something, that’s that.”

“ _ Now _ I have reason to believe you.”

Nick gaped at Parker with false incredulousness, and put a hand over his ‘heart’, ‘offended’. “You mean after all that, after all the evidence we uncovered with Dogmeat’s help, you never once believed me?”

Parker tried to force a deadpan. The corners of his mouth were continuously quirking upward, however; Dogmeat sniffing and licking at his face did not help matters whatsoever. “Not for a second.”

“Wiseass,” Nick dropped the act and flicked Parker in the temple-- with his ‘fleshier’ hand, thankfully-- and the flicked man cackled, put a hand over the affected area. “Now go get what you need to get done done. It’s already late enough as it were.”

“Fine, fine. I just need to make some finishing touches on the T-45 suit that I picked up. Give me a bit.”

“You know how to work power armor?”

“Mhm,” Parker affirmed, and pushed a toolbox close to the power armor station that sat at the back of the garage. He then grabbed a blowtorch and his welding helmet. The latter of the two was donned, but not yet pushed down. “I never really wore any power armor until recently, but I was trained to know how to wear it in the military-- and how to use it effectively. We all were. So it was only natural that knowing how to repair it well enough would follow suit. I’d usually just swap out the pieces on the frame, but when you get tossed all around the world in the service, you pick up a trick or two.”

“Huh. That’s actually pretty impressive.”

“Hey, thanks. I try my best.”

“And it doesn’t come out like the raiders’ power armor? All patchwork-looking?”

“Kind of? You can definitely tell there’s a difference in the metal, but if you follow the same sort of shape that the original piece had, your enemies won’t be able to.”

“Well said.”

Parker grinned, flipped the visor on his helmet down, and got to work. Nick watched intently as parts of metal were fused to one another, and broken mesh at the joints of power armor was put back into its rightful place. (For someone like him, who could actually stare at the sparks and such at this range without gradually getting macular degeneration or the like, it was quite mesmerizing. And the way Parker moved smoothly to accomplish each part of his apparent art wasn’t bad, either.)

(Wait, what?)

For once, Parker found himself being the one to startle Nick from his thoughts by repeating his name for the umpteenth time; it seemed as though Nick hadn’t even realized he’d moved to stand in front of him. “ _ Earth to Nick _ . I’m done. I just had to work on the left arm and right leg joints.”

Nick blinked several times as his focus returned. “Oh. Right. Nice work.”

“Thanks. You wanna see her in action?”

“Go for it. Wouldn’t want all that hard work goin’ to waste, now, would we?”

“No, sir.” He was beaming again, of course, proud and admittedly rather happy that he had an audience. Before Nick could even blink, it seemed, Parker was already digging for a fusion core in the toolbox. When he found one, he dug up five others for upcoming travel purposes-- because there was no way they’d be able to make it to the Glowing Sea on just one. (Or, at the very least, Parker wouldn’t. Not very quickly, anyway.) Then, once one of those was hammered into the back of the frame, Parker twisted the wheel on it with a grunt. The armor depressurized and unlocked; and, naturally, this allowed him to step in and grab the hand augmenters that would seal him inside and re-pressurize the suit.

Once Parker was armored up, he posed and flexed biceps that weren’t actually visible at that moment. “Ta-da.”

Nick cackled, and rose from his seat to get a good look at the suit in action. “Always wondered what you'd look like as a robot... not too shabby.”

“Heh. Thanks? I don’t think I could match your level of handsome, what with this suit’s helmet looking like a bug.”

“See, I thought that was the X-0 se--” Nick paused mid-word to better process what Parker had just said.

Parker waited for him to finish a thought that didn’t come, then tilted his head when he was sure it wouldn’t. “You okay there, Nick? Do I need to take you back to Amari, or something?”

“No, it’s just. Can you repeat the last thing you said?”

“‘Thanks’?”

“No, after that.”

“Oh. ‘I don’t think I could match your level of handsome’?”

“Right. I, uh. Yeah. No. Trust me on this one, that helmet of yours--” here, Nick gestured vaguely and averted his eyes, “is a lot prettier than this mug.”

“I mean, it  _ was _ meant as a joke. But, hey, if you wanna get serious,” Parker depressurized his helmet, pulled it off, and tucked it under his arm like one might do with a ball, “you  _ are  _ pretty easy on the eyes.”

Nick was given pause once again, and his shoes suddenly looked to be very interesting to him. “I don’t see how you see that. I mean, I look like all the other synths-- just a  _ lot _ more busted up. Humans and humanoid synths, you’ve all got variety and smoothness going for you, at least.”

“But you’re not them, Nick. Nor are you us, or the totally humanoid synths, either. You’re Nick. And you’ve been around a while, from my understanding, so no one’s gonna judge you for not looking ‘fresh out of the factory’. We all have scars at one point or another. Honestly, I think yours give you character.”

Nick’s gaze floated back up to meet Parker’s. “You mean to tell me that with all the skin missing and parts showing and everything, you still consider me to be handsome.”

“In a nutshell, yeah. Not just saying that to make you feel better, either.”

“Oh. I… I appreciate that. You didn’t need to specify that, though, I just… Hm.”

Parker shrugged with an encouraging smile, then backed up to position his power armor near the station and exit from it. As he pulled the Fusion Core back out of it, Nick inquired aloud, “When did you come to this conclusion, anyway?”

“I dunno. I used to do art for a while when I was in college, as a hobby more than anything else. Gained an in-depth appreciation for faces and what have you. Similarly, if you go places with someone, do meaningful things with them, and are in general around someone in a positive way for long enough, you start seeing things in them that you didn’t see before-- physically speaking,  _ and _ emotionally speaking.

“So to answer your question for certain: I really don’t know for sure. Maybe it was during the dance we did? Maybe it was when you shook some damn sense into me at Fort Hagen? What I do know is that I was never repulsed by you. I’m sorry if the way I asked my initial questions about your being a synth made it seem like that was the case.”

“No, not at all. That’s not what I’m getting at; I’m just not used to people appreciating me aesthetically these days. Irma and I have always gone back and forth, flirting, as long as I’ve visited Doctor Amari, but this is… new territory.”

With all those admissions, ‘aesthetically’ might not have been the right descriptor. For now, however, it was close enough. “I hope my not-so-subtle compliment didn’t throw something off in your code, then.”

“Ah, shove it. You know from the experience in Goodneighbor that it’ll take a lot more than being someone’s ‘muse’ to throw me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then,” Parker shot back with a grin, which slowly turned into a big yawn. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, then rubbed at his face. “For now-- I’m gonna crash in the little ‘do not enter’ room with the terminal. Wake me up if the world starts ending again, or if a single raider tries to assault this entire place on their own.”

“I think I can handle that. Oh, and Parker?”

The man had already turned and stridden towards the door, and he paused in the doorframe to look over his shoulder back at Nick. “Yeah?”

Nick leaned casually against the toolbox that Parker had moved earlier. “You’re not too bad-looking, yourself.”

Parker’s eyebrows shot up, and his cheeks tinted faintly red, but his smile never left. “Thanks, Nick.”

“Anytime.”

The man in the doorway left, then, to go to sleep; when he kicked his boots off and laid himself down, however, sleep wouldn’t come for a while. Parker had a lot to think about, with his fingers laced together over his chest and his eyes glued to the ceiling.

He had just flirted, if at a bare minimum, with another person. His wife’s death had only been about a month ago, at this point; checking his Pip-Boy confirmed that. But, in reality, since Shaun had looked to be about nine or ten, that amount of time had passed, instead… yet he still felt like the whole ordeal had happened yesterday. Thanks to the run through Kellogg’s memories, he could see it as if it were in his head.

What would Nora have wanted him to do?

She was dead. He knew that. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't be putting the moves on  _ anyone  _ else this quickly. He was always one to take things slow, and that’s how it was between the two of them.

_ But not everything's going to be like that _ , he reminded himself.  _ And if you shut everyone out, you may not find any companionship like hers ever again. Would she want that for you? _

No. She wouldn't. Parker knew that for a fact. Nora was always (gently) convincing him to get out more, do more, be more than he thought he was until he was doing these things for himself… and even then, she’d still be there for him in a pinch. And those pinches happened all too often.

So, for now, Parker would continue as he apparently was with Nick. Test the waters as he sailed, so to speak. He supposed he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but he wanted to do so with respect.

And as the strange twisting of his stomach that usually came about when he thought about matters of his wife’s death died out, he was able to drift peacefully off to sleep. Dreams of pastel colors and the hands of two different people held out to him chased him until the hour that he woke.


	11. irradiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW i'm back after a long ass hiatus. school has hit full force so i may be more sparse in posting. sending good vibes everyone's way.

          The first leg of Nick and Parker’s trip— from the Red Rocket Truck Stop near Concord to the edge of the Glowing Sea— took them almost two days. Parker was no machine, after all, even if he was in one; he could walk distances and do it well, but factors like detours and fights with various Commonwealth dangers made the effort a bit more strenuous.

When they reached the outer limits of the radiation-bombarded area, both mens’ Geiger counters began to tick softly. Parker took his last deep breath, then re-sealed his suit underneath the helmet of his Power Armor. They nodded to one another and headed off into the Glowing Sea, towards a point that Doctor Amari had marked on their map.

The second leg of their trip, under conditions that were less strenuous, would have taken roughly the same amount of time as the first; however, where an enemy or two had blocked their path in the ‘cleaner’ Commonwealth, that number increased exponentially as they headed further into the Glowing Sea. Radscorpions stabbed at the duo with their pincers; bloodbugs tried (and failed) to penetrate Parker’s power armor, and recoiled from Nick upon finding that he had no real blood to suck; and, worst of all, a bout with a Deathclaw tore a neat hole in Nick’s garb— and even pierced the synthetic flesh across his stomach, beneath the coat and shirt.

Of course, the last of these horrible creatures was dispatched with a few combat shotgun rounds to the head and stomach on Parker’s part; once he was certain the Deathclaw was dead, he approached a doubled-over Nick trying to stem the flow of a dark blue liquid from his stomach. “Shit, Nick, that's…”

“A lot of coolant, I know,” Nick grunted, and looked up at Parker. “I thought the wound was less severe than it is. Guess I let that damn thing cut me pretty deep.”

“You… Do stimpaks work for you?”

“Sure. One of the first synths to have that be the case. Give one here, if you got it; I’d rather keep as much of this in me as I can. Replacing it’s a pain.”

Parker laughed, a touch nervously for Nick’s sake, and opened a storage panel in his suit of power armor. After some digging, the stimpak was offered to Nick in an open, metal palm; the synth took it with the hand not working to stop the flow of coolant, muttered his thanks. Slowly, he took a seat on the cracked earth and peeled off his coat, then opened the front of his dress shirt partly, from the bottom up. “Sorry,” he said as he injected himself with the stimpak. “I’d usually just shove the needle in a spot in my neck; but with something like this, it’s better to get as close to the injury as possible.”

For a moment, Parker had to sate his sudden curiosity and look at the part of Nick that was now exposed. Seams seemed to cross his body where flesh was panelled on over the metal frame; and, where this new wound and the seams were not, other old scars and wounds made a proper patchwork of Nick’s body.

Not that this made him look terrible, per se.

When this moment passed, Parker realized that he’d been staring. He ripped his attention away, drew his sniper rifle, and began a visual sweep of the area as if he hadn't just been essentially ogling the synth man moments before. Yet he managed a belated response, “Don’t worry about it. There’ve been moments where I've had to do the same. Staying alive outweighs personal comfort.”

Despite the helmet blocking his exact gaze, it was clear that Nick didn’t fail to notice Parker’s nosiness before he turned away. He simply chuckled and shook his head in an almost knowing fashion. (The first of these actions was, of course, made easier now that it wouldn't sting like hell just to laugh.)

Once Nick was satisfied with the healing status of his injury, he buttoned up his shirt and donned his coat once more. Parker offered a hand to help him up; he took it, and used it to pull himself to his feet. “Thanks again for the stim.”

“Sure thing, Nick. We just wouldn't want a nifty little blue trail left behind us, now, would we?”

“Hardee har har. Let’s get moving again before it becomes one made outta blue  _ and  _ red.”

 

\--------

 

After a brief climb over a steep crater’s edge, Nick and Parker found what the former’s Pip-Boy denoted as the “Crater of Atom”-- the Commonwealth’s hub for members of the Children of Atom. While eccentric in both style and mannerisms, the group greeted Parker and Nick in amicable tones, though a select few stayed clear of Nick entirely. One of the Children’s members stopped them in their tracks as they passed by a worn building constructed from wood and scrap metal. She called herself Mother Isolde, and warned the duo that they were on Atom’s holy ground; if they did not state their purpose there, they were going to be divided in ‘His’ sight.

Of course, Parker had questions when it came to what the hell they had just encountered. “Atom reached out and touched this world, bringing His Glow to us,” she had said to them. “It remains, to this day, a reminder of his promise. Infinite worlds through division.” When asked about Virgil, Isolde was initially defensive; but when it was revealed that Parker only wanted some information from him, she admitted that Virgil’s presence near the Crater had caused some concern, as some of the Children believed that his presence was an affront to Atom. Aside from trading, they had had very little contact with the scientist. Eventually, however, she admitted that he could be found in a cave southwest of the crater, and marked the relative location on Parker’s map; but she warned the two of them, saying that he would be less than hospitable to any direct visitors.

Parker thanked Isolde for her information, and he and Nick headed further off into the depths of the Glowing Sea. They crossed countless reservoirs of lava sealed under the ground by dirt; these appeared to be more irradiated than the others, and simply walking through them gave Parker a sick feeling to his stomach. By the time they had reached the cave that was said to belong to Virgil, the nausea had clung and stuck to Parker like a bad cold. (Despite this, the armored man still managed to put himself between Nick and another deathclaw sleeping in front of the cave, in order to protect him from another attack if it were to suddenly stir.)

Stepping inside the underground chamber revealed that Virgil had a series of lead-lined doors intended to keep this penetrating radiation out, and when Parker’s Geiger counter stopped ticking-- once they’d passed through the ‘airlock’-- he yanked his helmet off, popped a Rad-X, then stepped out of his power armor to administer Rad-Away to himself. He slumped against the nearest wall once the self-treatment began, pale and sweating. “Fuck.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Nick said, and leaned a bit more casually next to him, eyebrows knitted together with concern. “You okay? You look like you’re hounding for a green suntan.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right as rain in a minute here. I guess there’s no real way to keep  _ all  _ those particles of radiation out, huh?”

“Nope. Not a chance. Trust me, sometimes, even I kinda feel it-- as if the rads are just passing right through me, rearranging things even though they’re not…  _ living  _ parts.”

“That’s… That’s gotta be somethin’ else.”

“Damn right. I don’t usually feel anything that disorienting unless… well. That’s a story for another time.” Nick avoided Parker’s eyes, then, and glanced instead to the turrets surrounding the entrance to the inner sanctum of Virgil’s cave, pretended to be preoccupied with making sure that they didn’t attack the two of them.

Parker was therein reminded of a silly concept from more carefree days-- ‘you must be a level 23 friend to access this information’, or something along those lines. Inwardly, he hoped that Nick would eventually trust him enough to be able to vent about whatever was somehow worse than the feeling of radiation crawling through one’s body.

They stayed in a neutral silence like this until the pack of Rad-Away was drained. From there, Parker re-entered his power armor, and he and Nick headed deeper into Virgil’s space. Who they found there was not the person they had anticipated.

“Hold it!” cried what appeared to be a Super Mutant, fists raised. He lowered his voice after that, but still sounded grave and almost angry. “Take it nice and slow. No sudden moves. I know you’re from the Institute, so where’s Kellogg, huh? Trying to sneak up on me while you distract me? It’s not going to work. I’m not stupid, I knew they’d send him after me!”

After sparing a confused glance in Nick’s direction, Parker tried, “Are you… Virgil?”

“You know damn well I am,” Virgil replied through gritted teeth. “What’re you doing here?”

“I need your help.”

“My help? With  _ what _ ? How did you even find me, anyway?”

“Doctor Amari helped us find your location. And don’t worry-- we went through Kellogg’s memories to figure that out. In addition, he’s been… taken care of.”

While his mutated face was, by default, quite angry, Virgil’s expression was one of genuine shock and disbelief at the mention of Kellogg’s death. “Dead? He’s… Kellogg is... dead?” The stunned elements of his expression quickly melted away to the protective anger once more. “Don’t you lie to me!”

“He’s dead, whether you believe me or not.”

“There’s no question it’s difficult to believe. Kellogg was ruthless… there’s a reason the Institute used him to do their dirty work for so many years. I knew they’d send him after me; tried to prepare for it. But I still wasn’t sure I’d make it… and, so, there’s you. You killed him, eh? Then my earlier question still stands: what do you want with me?”

Parker visibly relaxed as Virgil did, tension dropping from his shoulders. “I need whatever information you’ve got. Anything to help me get into the Institute.”

And there came the shock onto Virgil’s face again; though, this time, it looked as though it was going to stick around. “I’m sorry, what? You want to get into the Institute? Are you insane? Never mind how nearly impossible that is, even if you were to succeed, it’d almost certainly end in your immediate death. What reason could you possibly have for taking that kind of risk?”

The questioned man tossed that question around in his head. Of course there was one clear answer: Parker wanted his boy back, at any cost. Because that was what had driven him this far. But he didn’t want to give that information up to just anyone else. So, after some deliberation, he came up with an almost stuttered: “It… doesn’t matter.”

Virgil clenched his fists and took in a deep, deep breath; then, he adjusted his warped glasses, and let that breath out. “Fine. You know what, I don’t even wanna know. You wanna get yourself killed, that’s  _ your _ problem. But I’m telling you-- that’s what’s going to happen.

“I can help you get in there, but I want something in return.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Before I had to escape, I was working on a serum that would serve as a cure for my… condition. Of course, I wasn’t able to bring it with me. It’s still in my lab, and… Well, look at me. I need it. I need you to find it for me, if you manage to get inside the Institute. What do you say?”

Parker, too, took a deep breath, then nodded. “You help me, and I’ll help you.”

“All right. Let’s talk details. First things first-- you know how Synths get in and out of the Institute?”

“Yeah, they use some sort of teleporter.”

“Well, well. Not many know about it. Pretty closely guarded secret; you’ve certainly done your homework. It’s commonly referred to as the “Molecular Relay”. I don’t understand all the science behind it, but it works. De-materializes you in one place, re-materializes you in another. I’m sure it sounds crazy, but it’s a reality. The Relay is the only way in and out of the Institute-- you understand? The  _ only one _ . That means you’re going to have to use it.

“Now, have you ever seen an Institute Courser?”

Clueless as to what this term meant, Parker tilted his head to one side, inquisitive. “A ‘Courser’? What’s that?”

“Another Institute secret. Coursers are Institute synths designed for one purpose: they’re  _ hunters _ . Operations go wrong, a synth goes missing, and a Courser is dispatched. They’re very good at what they do, and you’re going to have to kill one.”

“Why do I have to kill one?” Again, the want for the least bloodshed possible reared its head, so Parker couldn’t help but ask; but if these Coursers had free access in and out of the Institute, he’d be willing to blow up a mountain just to get to one.

“Because you want to get into the Institute, remember? They’re your ticket in. Every Courser has special hardware that gives them a direct connection to the Relay in the Institute. It’s embedded in a chip in their heads. You need that chip. But to get it, you’ll have to find a Courser.

“Now, I don’t know exactly where you can find one. They haven’t sent any after me, and sitting here waiting doesn’t sound too appealing. You’re going to have to hunt one down. I can tell you where to start, and give you some help finding one, but you’ll have to do the dirty work.”

There was a pause for Parker to process all of this, but he eventually nodded once more. “Okay,” he concurred, and steepled his fingers-- which looked all-too exaggerated in his power armor. “Let’s get to work.”

“Right,” Virgil said, and sniffled once. “The primary insertion point for Coursers is in the ruins of CIT, directly above the Institute. So you’ll want to head there. Now, the relay causes some pretty heavy interference all across the EM spectrum. You’ve got a radio on that Pip-Boy, right? When you get to the ruins, tune it to the lower end of the band and listen in. You’ll be able to hear the interference. Follow the signal, and it’ll lead you to a Courser. Then you just have to… not get killed.

“Not gonna lie, the odds aren’t in your favor here. But if you do make it, remember what I said about the serum. I need it. Badly.” A pregnant pause ensued as some sort of realization seemed to dawn on Virgil; he straightened up a bit, adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I… I really do hope you find whatever it is that you’re looking for.”

With that, Virgil glanced between Parker and Nick for a moment more, eyed Nick with suspicion fitting an Institute member (not unlike that which they encountered at the beginning of their meeting), then turned and shuffled off into the depths of his cave laboratory.

“So, it’s like that, is it?” Nick remarked, breaking the silence he’d maintained all throughout that conversation. “We’ve got to pop open someone else’s head, then.”

“Certainly seems like it. I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“I don’t blame you. Synths are people, of course, and killing them-- even if they’re just  around to drag other synths back into the Institute’s dark chambers-- stings just as much as it would to kill a human.”

“Mm,” Parker hummed in agreement, rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m used to doing what needs to be done in the line of duty, but it never really stops giving you that sick feeling.”

“That means you’re human, Parker; or, more appropriately, someone with a good conscience.”

“I just hope that doesn’t change anytime soon.”

“I have faith. You’ve been pretty resilient thus far. Now, c’mon, let’s get out of here, get you some rest… maybe a doc’s opinion. And tell me if you start getting sick again on the way back; I don’t need you retching inside that suit of yours.”

Parker almost gagged at that particular thought.


	12. collection

Virgil was right about the courser being a force to be reckoned with.

Parker and Nick fought through wave after wave of Gunners (who, funny enough, probably had intentions similar to the pair) just to get to the dangerous synth in the highest parts of Greentech Genetics.

The building itself, before they had discovered it proper, was glaringly obvious in its height and fitting green color; the path to it, not so much. The duo spent roughly three days getting to the ruins of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology; then, another two were spent locking in on the courser’s location, allocating for the occasional interruption by the dangers of an irradiated city.

Being at the mercy of the range of a radio signal was not easy when threats lurked around any corner. But, back-to-back, threat after threat was deflected; what they didn’t know was that those threats, on their own, were simply warm-ups compared to the fight they were about to endure.

As Nick and Parker neared the courser, they could hear him arguing aloud with someone-- presumably more of the Gunners they had to fight on the way up. There was talk of a password and of a girl as they ascended; a confused glance back to Nick on Parker’s part only elicited a confused and worried shrug from the synth, and a gesture for him to keep moving.

It was clear to them both, even through the walls, that the courser was gradually losing his patience. This was most evident when a single shot from a laser rifle rang out, and another Gunner screamed, began to beg for a better compromise. The only thing that that ended in was a promise that  _ they _ would die in a worse way if the password wasn’t given up.

The two that had been sneaking their way up through Greentech were just outside the door that separated them from the room that the courser was in; they stood on either side, bracing themselves for a fight. However, when Parker reached for the door handle, the courser finally spoke to them directly.

“You’ve been following me,” the courser’s voice rang out, seemingly penetrating through the wall that separated them. A simple enough statement of fact, really. However, it caused both Nick and Parker to freeze as if they hadn’t just been caught red-handed. When nothing happened, the courser continued, “Come. Here.”

Again, Parker looked over to Nick, and he nodded for him to continue, clicked the safety off on his pipe revolver. With confirmation from his partner, Parker finally grasped the door’s handle and slid it open.

Behind it lay the Courser, a tall, slim man with his long hair neatly pulled back into a small ponytail. His thick eyebrows furrowed further as Parker and Nick eased their way in, weapons drawn; he kept his own at about the same level.

“Are you here for the synth?” he inquired, and squinted at his two new guests,  _ especially _ at Nick. (The detective seemed to keep his cool, of course, but… his hands did tighten a bit on the grip of his gun.)

“No, that’s… not why I’m here.” Parker tried, cautiously and in an even tone.

“If you’re not here for the synth, then you’re here for me,” the courser responded. He lowered his voice and changed his question, “What. Do. You. Want?”

Parker took a deep breath, then pointed and said, “I need what’s in your head.”

“That, you cannot have.” With that, the courser whipped a Stealth Boy from off his belt and vanished before either Nick or Parker had time to react.

His invisibility, of course, didn’t stop him from opening fire; he managed to clip Parker on the shoulder just before he could get to cover behind a nearby cart, causing the man to grunt in pain. Nick dove behind the mechanical shaft in the center of the room, slid to a stop on his feet, and tried to get a lock on him while ducking in and out of cover.

For a few moments, the fight remained like this; the courser paced like a predator around the half of the room containing his hostages and took shots at Nick and Parker whenever they chose to peek out of cover to do the same. (When the last living Gunner mentioned how he could help the courser out in exchange for the girl, he was shot to death, too.) Eventually, the courser’s first Stealth Boy wore off, and Parker took this opportunity to get up and charge at him while he was readying another. On impact-- Parker’s undamaged shoulder to his chest-- this knocked the device from his hands and sent it sliding across the floor, and caused the synthetic man to stagger.

In the moment given to him, Parker bashed the courser in the face with the barrel of his rifle, then took aim and fired at his neck and chest. When the dazed enemy regained his senses and made a break for his Stealth Boy, Nick leapt out of cover and shot at one of his knees twice. Both were solid hits and caused him to stumble again, then direct his fire at Nick rather than continuing to limp-run towards his lost device.

Rather than evading the blows completely, however, Nick also maneuvered into close quarters with the courser and, with a kick, swept his legs out from under him.

The Institute agent hit the ground with a weighty thud and what almost sounded like a growl; Nick kicked again, at his hands. to get his gun out of his hands when he tried to aim it up at him. It, too, slid across the floor to join the Stealth Boy in the pile of lost equipment.

Before the courser could lurch upwards to get himself off the ground, Parker stopped that train of thought in its tracks by stomping on his throat. He choked audibly, then, and grabbed at the offending leg’s shin and calf.

What Parker wasn’t expecting was for that grip to turn into what felt like the Jaws of Life; he was pretty sure he could hear and  _ feel  _ bones snapping and skin bruising in high definition. He kept from vocalizing his pain for a time and tried to put more weight on the courser’s windpipe. But when he could internalize no more and cried out, Nick reacted by emptying the rest of his clip into the courser’s torso and stomach at close range.

This was what finally caused the trapped man’s body to lurch, and let go of Parker’s leg. He yanked it out of his reach as soon as the slightest change in grip happened, limped to stabilize himself against the metal pillar-like structure Nick had been hidden behind just moments before. When he could focus enough to hold his laser rifle steady, he also emptied his clip-- right into the courser’s neck again.

It didn’t take many more shots before the courser’s head was freed from its body, and the last attempts for him to rise turned to naught. His disembodied head hit the ground before his body did; his synthetic muscles gave one last twitch before their disconnection from the brain proved to be the means to an end.

And so there was silence, gunsmoke, and the smell of charred flesh. Nick and Parker looked at each other again in an exasperated fashion, then winced almost synchronously when their gazes drifted back to the mess they had created.

Parker shuddered and averted his eyes. “I didn’t want to have to do that.”

“I know. Neither did I, Parker,” muttered Nick. “No good person really wants to kill  _ anybody _ . Look-- that courser bleeds red just like you, or any other human. It… was necessary.”

“To be fair,” Parker started, then cut himself off with a gasp of pain as he tried to walk on the leg that the courser had essentially broken.

“Woah, woah, I saw and  _ heard _ how hard the guy gripped you,” Nick interrupted, and reached out to guide Parker back to the metal beam. “You don’t need to aggravate that fracture any more. Sit down a second, I’ll see about finding that chip.”

“Nick, I’m fine, really. I just need to splint this or find a brace.”

“You ever try walking with no screws or bolts in your knee? No? It has approximately the same effect. Same amount of detriment. ‘Cept your parts are just falling out on the inside, not externally.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to  _ make _ it worse.”

“Fine, but at least let me--”

Again Parker was interrupted; but instead of being delayed by further pain, it was by another voice, coming from behind the other set of doors in the room. “Hello?”

The shuttered window to the right of the door opened up, and the face and hands of a tired-looking woman peeked through the blinds. She stepped back into the room keeping her prisoner when Nick approached and Parker limped over; it almost looked like she became smaller at a glance in her evident fear.

“He… he deserved to die. I-I know you’re not here for me,” she said, and gradually became quieter as she went on, “but… I can’t get out. Not on my own. I’m going to have to trust you to help me.”

“Who… are you? Are you that synth that the courser was talking about?”

“We’ll talk once you open the door-- I promise I won’t run. The guard put the password in a toolbox over there, under the stairs. Use that to gain access to the terminal and open the door.”

As asked, Parker made his way carefully over to the toolbox. Inside was a holotape, a jar of Buffout, a flip lighter, and some duct tape. The Buffout was left alone; the lighter and duct tape, however, were taken up for later use in modding weapons. And, of course, the holotape likely containing the password was taken and inserted into the terminal next to the door keeping the mysterious woman prisoner.

Once Parker had access to the terminal, he turned the elevator’s power on and unlocked the door via its interface. The woman stepped out to be face-to-face with Parker and Nick, and they met her halfway.

She wrung her hands and tried her best to make eye contact once they were near; a smile made its way onto her face. “Thank you. I… don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not just gonna leave someone locked up like that.” Parker offered a smile, tried to stand up a little straighter.

“I guess I’ll answer your original question, now. One good turn deserves another, and all that. My… Institute designation is K1-98. But I prefer Jenny. So-- yes, I’m the synth that the courser was talking about, if you hadn’t already guessed,” Jenny paused here to rub her face and cut her eyes away from the two men. “I knew they’d send a Courser; I just didn’t think he’d find me so fast. I think I would have lost him, too, but then I was captured by these… mercenaries. And all this happened.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Nick inquired.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. The Commonwealth is unforgiving, just as I always heard. I need to make it on my own or I’m dead. Thanks again for all your help. I’m just gonna check around for supplies before I head out,” Jenny looked up at Nick again, then at Parker, with a slightly bigger smile. “Maybe we’ll meet again under better circumstances. I… hope we do.”

With that, Jenny brushed between her saviors and out into the main room, then into the stairwell from which Nick and Parker had come. They watched her go for a moment; then, Parker sighed, and finally took Nick’s advice to sit down. “You were right about modern synths being indistinguishable from humans. I thought that courser was talking about himself, initially. But, Jenny… Jenny seems like a much better person.”

“You read my mind,” Nick agreed, and took a seat beside Parker. “The Institute shouldn’t make the equivalent of a person and think that they wouldn’t want their own freedom.”

“Mm. I hope she stays safe.”

“Me, too. In the meantime,” Nick shifted to face Parker, “we need to get your leg fixed up enough so that  _ you _ stay safe, and so you can hobble somewhere safer.”

“Oh, ha, ha. Fine. I’ve already got duct tape-- if you can find a board or something that’d make for a decent splint, I’ll try not to let my leg crumble into dust. I’d fix this easy, but I’m out of stims after that bout.”

“You think I’d keep mine to myself if I still had any?” Nick smirked at Parker; then, he pushed his hat up and out of his eyes to survey the room. Finding nothing suitable at a glance, he rose to his feet and walked back into the anterior room and over to the toolbox that had contained the terminal password. With some effort, he was able to pull out a board jutting out of the pile of debris on which it sat; he then broke that in half over his knee, taking it from about the length of an office desk’s width to that of a nightstand. It was then broken in half once more, and then split by its width to create two pieces that would support either side of the lower half of Parker’s leg.

Parker grinned at his return, and took the pieces when they were offered. “Hey, thanks.”

“One more thing,” Nick said, and knelt beside Parker again. He took off his hat and set it aside, then flipped the collar of his dress shirt up and wrestled his tie off. Once it was no longer around his neck, he undid the knot in it and offered the accessory to Parker. “You’re welcome to use this to get the splint started. Won’t kill me to be a little casual.”

“You sure? There aren’t exactly any department stores that have these on the shelves anymore.” Parker took up the tie almost reverently, inspecting the worn, but not dirty fabric.

“I’m sure. I’ve got ten more at home. Ellie and I sew them ourselves from whatever matching material we can scrounge up.”

“...Thanks, Nick.”

“Hey, what’re friends for?”

“Forcing each other to get medical attention?”

That earned Parker a punch to his shoulder, even as both parties present laughed. “Sorry for trying to keep you alive,” Nick jeered, and sat down properly, donned his hat again. “I’ll try not to in the future.”

“I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”

The splint was then tied firmly in place with Nick’s tie, and reinforced with duct tape; when Parker cautiously stood, it was still with pain, but he didn’t feel as if he was going to collapse with every step. Still, Nick stayed close (as a precaution, of course) as they made their way back into the room in which they fought. The (thankfully undamaged) courser chip was retrieved from the exposed portion of the deceased courser’s neck. Both Parker and Nick were grateful that it only took a tug to dislodge it from the bottom of his skull.

“I doubt the Institute is gonna appreciate us putting down one of their lackeys,” Nick remarked as he inspected the strange chip (now clean of blood and debris) in Parker’s hands. ”We oughta find someone to analyze that chip, pronto.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

By the time they got back outside, and after a long standing elevator ride down, Parker needed the shoulder to lean on.

With an arm around Nick’s shoulders, then, they were bound anew for any place that would offer stimpaks. Because, in Nick’s words, he “couldn’t replace Parker’s leg for the rest of their journey”.

The man he was supporting reminded him that his leg was broken, not his fists.


	13. correlation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> run with the railroad.

“You’re back!” Doctor Amari nearly gasped, as a since-healed Parker and a content Nick shuffled back into the Memory Den’s main foyer. “The Glowing Sea, Virgil… what happened?”

“A… lot happened, doctor. If it’s alright, I’ve got a question for you, too: do you know anything about decoding courser chips?” Parker dug to the bottom of his ammo bag and offered the doctor the courser chip.

Amari’s brow shot up and her eyes blew wide as she took the small piece of metal. “A courser chip?!” she shouted, and glanced up at Parker incredulously. After a beat, she realized her apparent enthusiasm might give Parker’s semi-secret mission’s objective away and lowered her voice anew. “You fought a Courser?!... Oh my god… I… I’m sorry to tell you this, but, unfortunately, I can’t help you. I’ve worked on a lot of Synths, but never a Courser. I don’t know what that chip does, let alone how to decode it.

“But,” Amari amended, and gave the chip back to Parker, “there are people who might. I work with a group that… well… they’re the only ones I know that even have a chance at cracking Institute security. They’re called the Railroad.”

Parker’s head cocked to one side. “The ‘Railroad’? Who or what is that?”

“They’re a group that helps synths escape the Institute. I don’t know who they all are-- usually, an agent of theirs just shows up with someone who needs new memories. One of them gave me a code phrase, said it would help me find them if there was ever an emergency. ‘Follow the Freedom Trail.’”

Recognition showed in the way Parker’s eyes seemed to warm up-- even now, as it was now a part of the ruins of Boston, he had an idea of where that Freedom Trail was. (Where it started, at least.) “I think I can handle that. I walked the Freedom Trail a handful of times, way back when.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem. Hopefully they’ve placed other clues to tell you where to go after that, hidden somewhere in plain sight. That’s how they think.”

“...Alright. I’ll find them,” Parker confirmed with a nod. “One way or another.”

“Good luck. I’m sorry that what I have is so cryptic, but hopefully you can figure things out,” Amari reached out and squeezed Parker’s shoulder, then turned to Nick. “Keep this one safe, Mister Valentine. It’s not often you come across people that are strong enough to retrieve a courser’s chip; we need more people like him in the Commonwealth.”

“Hey,” Parker interjected, slid an arm around Nick’s shoulders, and squeezed gently. (Nick made a noise of surprise, but offered no resistance.) “I wasn’t the only one who took shots at that courser. Had Nick not been with me, I’m pretty sure I woulda died, or wound up without a leg.”

“My point, exactly.” Amari smiled cryptically and, offering no further words, turned back to her computer to jot the chip’s retrieval down in her logs.

Once Amari was back to work, Parker let go of Nick and shot him a grin. “Was she trying to imply something?”

“I guess so,” Nick conjectured, and dug a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it up. “She’s never made those sorts of comments before. Not towards me, anyway.”

“And to think that all it took was a stalwart, handsome companion by your side to unlock her deepest thoughts.”

“Stalwart? Yes, as I’ve seen so far. Handsome? Debatable.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Nick.”

“No, really?”

“You literally told me, recently, that you thought I was good-looking.”

“Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.”

“You got  _ flustered _ about being called handsome, yourself.”

“Hmmmmm… Maybe it  _ is  _ still in this head of mine somewhere...”

“‘Maybe’? Listen here, Mr. Ink Spots.”

Nick cupped one hand behind his ear and placed his other hand on his hip. “I’m listening.”

Having no actual witty comeback, Parker sighed melodramatically. “We… need to get going. But this isn’t over.”

“Seems to be a recurring theme with you, doesn’t it?” Nick extinguished his cigarette’s lit end between two fingers and stuck it, stub down, in a nearby ashtray. “In this case, though, it’s not actually a bad thing.”

“What... do you mean?” Parker’s smile grew sly, almost knowing.

Nick shook his head, though his smile persisted. “Stay focused, Parker. You’re the one who suggested that we get the ball rolling again.”

“Right, uh-- the Freedom Trail. It still starts near Boston Common, right? I passed by the place that I thought it might on the way to Park Street Station; there was a sign there, freshly painted, like someone had just updated it.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

“Something about ‘freedom’s lantern’, if I recall correctly. Sounds cryptic enough to be related to this Railroad organization.”

“Then back to the Common we go.”

 

\--------------------------

 

The sign that Parker had only remembered part of read in full: “At journey’s end, follow freedom’s lantern.”

A Protectron popped out of its charging station nearby and wandered forth to inform the two about the Freedom Trail. It was clear that this robot was not a hint dropped by the mysterious Railroad, however, because all the information it provided sounded pre-war-- as if pedestrians were still roaming the streets, as if cars were still whizzing by and occasionally parallel parking to let their passengers out to roam the city, and as if the nearby Swan Pond wasn’t heavily irradiated and still had people floating about on it. When prompted about the Railroad, or subvertly questioned, the Protectron professed that it did not understand the syntax, and asked Nick or Parker to try again with a different phrase.

Finding that the Protectron was not going to be of any use, the newest followers of the Freedom Trail turned away from it and stood at the first of the path’s markers once more. Parker squinted at it, then activated his Pip-Boy’s light to get a better look at it in the dark, as something seemed off about it; this revealed a red arrow pointing to the ‘A’ in ‘TRAIL’, and a 7 in the center, from which the arrow extended.

“A seven, and an A. Some sort of...code?” Parker thought aloud, and glanced to Nick after a moment. “Here, can I see your notebook?”

“Sure, sure. Just be careful. Lotta important notes in this one.” Nick fished out a blue pen and a small, worn notebook from his coat pocket and offered them to Parker. The man murmured his thanks and flashed Nick a smile, then flipped gingerly through the little book’s pages (not looking through it, of course) until he came to a blank one.

He then turned the notebook horizontally, and wrote the numbers one through seven neatly and smaller than he might usually write them at the center of the bottom of the rectangular space. Above seven, he then placed the letter A.

“I got a feeling,” Parker piped up when he was done, and handed the notebook back to Nick, “that this isn’t the only puzzle piece we’ll find. Keep your eyes peeled, okay?”

“As good as done. I’ll continue where you left off, here, if we find anything else.”

And so the two continued to follow the Freedom Trail, which, being as old as it was, ran under several buildings that were not present at the time of its construction. This meant that Parker and Nick were required to take several detours around decaying structures in order to find where it ran, and these side roads proved more dangerous than advantageous. (These unanticipated plot twists made both of them glad that they’d stocked up on ammo before departing from Goodneighbor.) Though, with a day’s time, and with the last of a hoard of Super Mutants extinguished, the traveling band of two was able to walk to the ending point of the Freedom Trail safely.

There they stood at last in front of the famous Old North Church, a bit worse for wear, but grateful to have reached their previously unknown destination. What appeared to be a two-dimensional version of a lantern was spray-painted to the right of the door, at about chest level for Nick and Parker. It was a symbol that they had seen just before their arrival, at various places along the Freedom Trail, and this only gave them further incentive to step inside.

Of course, nothing was going to come  _ that _ easily; there was a host of feral ghouls in the Old North Church’s chapel, and more seemed to appear out of nowhere as the duo descended into the depths of the catacombs beneath the church, just following the lantern decals.

A ‘special’ type of feral Ghoul that Nick later identified as a “Glowing One” scared (in his words) the  _ ever-loving shit _ out of Parker when they rounded a dark corner to see it up on its feet, likely roused by the noise of its fellow Ghouls being put down. Though alarmed, Parker’s combat training had him aiming and firing at its head in seconds; and after about half a clip of laser fire, it toppled over and lay still. Thankfully, that seemed to be the last of the mutated atrocities in the tunnels, and it seemed to have been guarding the last of the Freedom Trail markers.

Parker approached the marker cautiously and laid a hand on it; Nick followed in his footsteps, pulled out the reference page of the strange code that he and Parker had been compiling. Neither of them were sure why they had been surprised when said code spelled “RAILROAD”; it wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to decrypt the message hidden on the Commonwealth’s streets. Though, with all the dangers that they encountered along the way, it seemed as though it would have taken a proper army in normal cases.

Cases that didn't involve a parent trying to get to his kid.

It was clear, now, why the perilous path was lined with the bodies of those that were less fortunate in their attempts to follow the Freedom Trail.

For the first time in some time, Parker had to snap himself out of his thoughts and continue inspecting the marker. It seemed that the ring on it bearing the words “THE FREEDOM TRAIL” now spun, and the center circle could be depressed. That same circle also bore an arrow similar to the ones that had been on the other eight markers. It pointed upward, lining up with each letter on the outer ring with each spin.

Here, it was clear what had to be done.

Parker spun the outer ring a total of eight times to spell out “RAILROAD”, and pressed the inner button with each letter. With each press before the last, there was a high-pitched, affirmative click. On the last, there was a louder, more affirmative series of clicks; and what Parker and Nick thought to be only the brick wall to the marker’s left, holding a corpse in a compartment, began to shake and slide to one side. When the movement stopped and the final click of brick against brick rang out into the dark of the catacombs, there stood only darkness before them past the wall.

A suspicious glance passed between the two before Parker took a deep breath, turned his Pip-Boy’s light back on, and stepped even further into the deeper darkness. Nick followed, one hand in a pocket, the other within range of his gun.

Though, when an industrial light flashed on out of nowhere and lit up the dark in blinding brightness, it seemed that their entry hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed.

“Stop. Right. There,” ordered an even, stern voice; and, being temporarily blinded, Parker was more than happy to comply. He was able to set his previously-readied laser rifle down and put his hands up to signify that he meant no harm. By the time he did, things began to come back into focus.

Nick stood at his side, mimicked his gesture of surrender; this was with good reason, too, as one of the people that came to ‘greet’ them was armed with a minigun, which was already spun up and ready to fire with the pull of a trigger.

The minigun bearer’s expression was fierce, likely defensive. Neither Parker nor Nick blamed her. If the Railroad was this secretive, both of them could see why their entry had created a problem. With a side-shave that Parker had only ever dreamed of sporting, a coat that looked as though it could stand up to a missile bombardment, and a cold, steely determination in her eye, she looked like someone you would not want to tangle with. Ever.

The man that was opposite the wielder of the minigun, relatively speaking, was not terribly muscular or intimidating in himself. More than anything, he looked like an older version of the newspaper boys that ran rampant in the Sanctuary that Parker once knew. However, his expression indicated that he was just as alarmed as the wielder of the heavy arms, and his unwavering grip on his pipe pistol indicated that he was just as willing to back up his surprise with a shootout, should this chance encounter take a wrong turn.

And between them, the last of the apparent greeting committee, was the speaker that had told Nick and Parker to stop. Strangely enough, she seemed unarmed, as she was the only one not to have a weapon drawn; but on closer inspection, the outline of a rifle (its butt, anyway) could be seen peeking out over her shoulder. Her face and its current expression, framed by bobbed, firy red hair, seemed to be somewhere between impartial and judgemental, though her furrowed brow indicated a lean towards the latter.

The redhead spoke again once she was certain that Parker and Nick had disarmed. “You two went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions. Who the hell are  _ you _ ?”

Parker thought carefully for a moment, and came to the conclusion that it would be best to confirm that these people really are who he and Nick are looking for. “Would you mind telling me who you are, first?”

“In a world full of suspicion, treachery, and hunters, we’re the synths’ only friends,” the woman in the center replied, and straightened up a bit, almost as if she were proud to tell Parker this apparent fact. “We’re the Railroad. So answer  _ my  _ question.”

“I'm Parker. Parker Howard. This is my friend, Nick Valentine,” Parker paused in speaking here to gesture carefully to Nick, who tipped his hat to the woman addressing them. “We followed the Freedom Trail looking for the Railroad. We’re not your enemies.”

“If that’s true, you have nothing to fear,” the lady responded, and seemed to relax and let up on her glaring— if only by a fraction. “Who told you how to contact us?”

“Doctor Amari told us how to contact you.”

“Very interesting. Last question: why are you here?”

Parker glanced to Nick, who met his eyes and tipped his head towards the Railroad operatives once to indicate that, yes, they should have the full story. He then looked back to the woman in the middle. “I… tracked down and killed a Courser at Greentech Genetics. Now I need help breaking the code on his courser chip.”

“You have  _ what _ ?!” exclaimed the woman, and she took a single step forward. She didn’t seem to notice someone appearing from the shadows behind her as she continued, “This is not a joking matter.”

The shadow person in question, when brought into the light, was not as intimidating as Parker had anticipated. He wore black brow-line sunglasses and a ratty shirt and jeans, and sported a pompadour. (Whether it was a wig or not was beyond Parker, really. That was to be added to the list of questions about all this.) Before the newly-alarmed woman could speak any further, he interrupted her, leaned an elbow on her shoulder. “I didn’t know we were havin’ a party. What gives with my invitation?” When she tried to stop the mysterious man from speaking, he glanced to Parker. “Oh— I see you invited the Courser-killer and his synth detective. Niiiiice.”

“Deacon,” the lady who had become an armrest scolded, and pushed ‘Deacon’ off of her gingerly, “you’re late. You’re saying these intruders actually killed a courser? By themselves?” After a beat, she made an impressed noise, finally smiled, and glanced to the minigun wielder beside her. “That’d give even Glory a run for her money.”

The apparent Glory stuck her tongue out briefly at the woman who had referenced her, then trained her eyes back on Nick and Parker, but with less… steel in them.

“News flash, boss: these guys are kind of a big deal,” Deacon responded. “If you’re done interrogating them, you might want to show these Courser-murdering machines a little courtesy. Just a thought.”

“I owe you both an apology,” said Deacon’s boss, gaze much softer as she looked back to the two intruders. “Anyone who kills a Courser is good in my book. I'm Desdemona, and I'm the leader of the Railroad.”

“Nice to meet you, Desdemona,” replied Parker, and he finally lowered his hands, offered a smile. “I guess that goes for all of you.”

Nick lowered one of his own hands, and used the other to remove his hat and hold it to his chest. Important company warranted such things, apparently, Parker thought as he noticed this gesture out of the corner of his eye.

And, again, Deacon interjected as Desdemona seemed to be formulating a similarly diplomatic response. “Dez, we  _ gotta  _ let ‘em in. They've got an intact Courser chip, for God’s sake.”

“That  _ violates  _ our security protocols,” argued Desdemona.

“To hell with that!” Deacon exclaimed, and threw his hands up and his head back just a tad. “They killed a Courser. There's no way they're working for the Institute.”

Desdemona took a deep, deep breath; then, she turned slowly back to Parker and Nick. “We’re letting you into our headquarters. You're the first outsiders to ever be given this privilege. We’ll discuss the details about your chip  _ inside _ .” With that said, she turned on her heel and headed down the hallway behind her. Deacon followed suit, but the newspaper boy-esque man and the woman named Glory remained.

“Don’t try anything, strangers,” the man said as Nick and Parker passed him by. (Getting a closer look at Nick in passing, however, seemed to change his demeanor somehow.)

While following in Desdemona’s footsteps, Nick spoke candidly. “Talk about a lukewarm welcome, huh?”

“Yeah, but— it seems like they have reason to be  _ that  _ cautious.”

“If they're doin’ right by synths, I don’t see any reason to disagree with you.”

Around a pair of corners and through a well-preserved door was what Parker presumed to be the Railroad’s headquarters. The space, being part of an old crypt, naturally did not have ample height to it; but it was certainly expansive, and full of tools, workbenches, supplies, and most importantly: people. Whether they were synths or not was a mystery to Parker; if anything, they were the newest generation of synth that Nick had mentioned himself being ‘just before’. (Another inquiry to add to the backlog of questions for the railroad: why were there no rescued synths from around Nick’s generation? Or did they even keep rescued synths  _ here _ ?)

“Decoding a Courser chip is a very delicate operation,” Desdemona began when Nick and Parker were inside the headquarters and within earshot, but without looking at them. “A million things can go wrong— the least of which is losing the data. Fortunately, we have the right man for the job.”

“Oh, hey, Dez,” greeted the man in question, a lanky fellow in overalls and a strange piece of headwear. “Y’need somethin’?”

“Tom, our visitors here have a Courser chip.”

“Whoa!” shouted Tom, and physically hopped to turn and face Parker and Nick, arms thrown out just a bit in surprise. “For real?”

Desdemona cracked a grin at Tom’s reaction, as if used to it. When she turned to Nick and Parker again, however, her expression faded into something more serious. “…Right. Some ground rules. Tom can get you the code, but once he's done,  _ we  _ get the Courser chip.”

Parker quirked an eyebrow. “I'd be more than happy to fork it over, but can I ask why you want it?”

“Institute tech is light years beyond what we have, and a Courser chip is top of the line,” Desdemona explained, slightly less grave at the prospect of actually getting the chip. “I’m not going to get into details, but that chip could help us save lives. Maybe throw a wrench into the Institute’s operations.”

“If that’s the case, then it’s yours.” Parker reached into his bag once more and dug out the chip to offer it to Desdemona in an open palm. She handed it over to Tom on contact.

“Alright, Tom?” said the leader of the Railroad, with a confident smirk on her face. “Make it happen.”

Tom’s grin looked as though it was about to break past the boundaries of his face as he held the chip in his hands. After close inspection under a microscope, he plugged it into a device attached to a nearby terminal and set to work. “Alright, little Courser chip. Let’s have the circuit analyzer take a crack at you,” and after a brief moment of typing, he continued, “We’re in— chip accessed. Just poke the analog connectors a little.

“…What? Oh, no— don’t crash. Hold it together. Memory hiccup,” Tom explained over his shoulder, with apologetic glances to Desdemona, Parker, and Nick. (The latter two waved it off, of course, but Desdemona looked nearly frightened for a moment.) “Here it comes. Encryption algorithms… all right, we’re still running. Ohh, man, they've added more decimals to the last cipher. This is gonna be… c’mon, baby, show me that pattern. Where is it?

“Wait— they're using the same logarithmic function as the key generator. Ohh,  _ man _ , we got lucky.” Tom hopped again, and did a brief little elated clapping motion before he immediately set back to typing once more.

“Trust me,” Nick muttered to Parker, nudged him with an elbow, “that’s actually a pretty big deal.”

Parker huffed a laugh. “I take it you speak from experience?”

“And then some, yeah. One time, a password I had to grab was based on a cubic function with certain limits. Worst hack I've ever had to deal with.”

“If my memories of math from high school and college are still intact, that sounds pretty awful.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Tom, unaffected by the ‘side dialogue’, continued to prattle on. “Solve for N. Come  _ on _ , show me that sweet base number—  _ and we got it _ !”

The apparent technician went from hunched over his desk to jumping back and victory-punching the air in a matter of what seemed like milliseconds. “Ha-ha- _ haaaa _ ! Lemme load that onto a holotape for ya.” And that, Tom did, offering it with obvious pride to Parker. The recipient nodded his thanks and returned Tom’s toothy grin.

“Good work, Tom,” Desdemona remarked, with just a smidgen of applause.

Tom stretched his arms up, then clasped them behind his head confidently with a hum. “I'm not sure our luck’ll hold up next time, Dez.”

“Start working on the rest of the chip,” Desdemona said, and Tom did so in a flash similar to his most recent outburst. Then she turned back to the Railroad’s guests. “And you two— I’d love to work with you more. Let me know if you’re interested.

“But to be crystal clear,” and here, Desdemona’s voice and facial expression dropped into something graver than ever before, “if you use that data and discover anything involving the Institute— you share it with us, first. Otherwise, our relationship will be in jeopardy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course. We’re in your debt. Thanks,” Parker said with a grateful nod and smile, “and thank you, Tom.” (Tom offered a grin and a thumbs up without looking up from his terminal; his hand that was still on the keyboard worked overtime for a brief moment in order to compensate for the temporary loss of its twin.)

Desdemona mirrored Parker’s nod, then crossed her arms. “I've got one last line of questioning for you, if you have the time.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“If we’re going to be dealing more with each other, I need to make sure all of us are on the same page. You know what a synth is, right?”

“Of course. My partner here’s a synth, and we actually met a synth who was escaping the Institute on her own up at Greentech Genetics. The Courser and some Gunners had her pinned.”

Desdemona’s eyebrows shot up. “Was she hurt? Did she need help?”

“She claimed to want to make it on her own,” Nick answered. “If she couldn't make it without help, she’d said, the Commonwealth would destroy her. But she seemed fine other than that.”

“…Huh. Well, alright. Here's hoping that she blends in well enough out there to survive.”

“That would make three of us.” Parker agreed.

“If it’s not clear from the way that you found her, the Institute treats synths like her, and like you, Mr. Valentine, as property. As tools.”

“Why does the Institute treat them that way, anyway? Shouldn't they just integrate them into their workforce, treat them as equals?”

“They should. Were that the case, we would have had no reason for all the rescues we've done all this time. But they've decided to play God, to tinker with things they don’t fully understand. From that lofty vantage, it’s easy for them to deny the synths’ humanity.”

“…Go on.”

“So we seek to free the synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at a real life. And, consequently, I have a question. The only question out of all of these that matters. Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a synth?”

Parker was taken aback by the gravity of the question, but in his gut, he knew the answer that would best express his feelings. “A synth has saved my life already. I’d only think it right to return the favor. Besides, I once pledged my life to protect my countrymen; I don’t see this as being any different.”

While Parker didn’t look over at Nick, his gaze fixed on Desdemona in order to prove the validity of his statement, he could almost feel him beaming.

“Well said,” replied Desdemona, and she gave Parker one of those broad, warm smiles she’d offered to her fellow Railroad members. “People with your skills, your beliefs— normally, we’d try and recruit you both. But right now, we don’t have time to train you up. There are, however, other valuable ways that you can contribute. And in turn, we can help you. See Deacon for the details, but for now, you’re free to go.”

With a cordial wave, Desdemona disappeared back into the front of Railroad HQ from whence she, Nick, and Parker had come.

Parker took the pause in speaking and action as an opportunity to flop down in a nearby chair, relieved. “God. I'd heard whispers of the Railroad before, mentions from passerby, but… This is a lot more intense than I'd ever expected.”

“I hope that’s not a bad thing?” Nick inquired, and leaned against a brick support across from Parker to speak with him.

“No, not at all. It’s just, this opportunity they've apparently given me. It’s a lot to think about.”

“Ah, you've got a lot on your plate, Parker. You just gotta focus on what matters to you, and the rest will come when it comes. For example: getting that Courser chip data back to Virgil, maybe.”

“Hey, you're right,” Parker agreed. “Guess we should prepare for another trip into the Glowing Sea, then.”

“And one hell of a walk, considering the distance we covered to get  _ here _ .”

“‘Least I know I'll have a lifeguard with me in case I need another Rad-Away treatment… or, y’know, CPR.”

Nick laughed at the allusions to both a relatively recent occurrence and something ridiculous in that statement. “Damn right, you will. I’ve… I've got your back. And it’s good to know that you've got mine. Hell, you kinda have from the start.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t see a reason. You've just made that clear, so far, and I appreciate it.”

“Nick, don’t even worry about it. You’re a great person, and a great friend.”

And there was that big smile that Parker hadn't seen earlier, all over Nick’s face. “I could say the same for you. Thanks, pal. Now, what say you we get going before we both get real mushy?”

“Aww, but I was hoping we’d break out into song together. Relive that scene from  _ Titanic _ .”

“I don’t need to be held over the bow of any ship,  _ thanks _ , and I'm sure you don’t either.”

“Come on, already, then, before we break down all the fun emotional stuff we just built up.”

“Works for me. So long as we’re not traveling by means of a luxury cruise liner headed for destruction.”

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a thing that i've written.
> 
> after completing nick valentine's approval quest and all subsequent dialogue, and after having traveled with him through the wastes ever since i started the game, i got inspired to write about a more detailed account of his relationship with my sole survivor. due to the fact that i'm on ps4 and cannot install the "romance nick valentine" mod (yet), i'm expressing my feelings here. this is my first time writing for the Fallout fandom, so please let me know if anything's inaccurate or god-mod-like.
> 
> thanks for reading.


End file.
